The Cuckoo of the Manor

by Rainbow_Convection, YourMinecraftBoyfriend

Summary:

As far as Ed was aware, time worked like the infection map of a virus. Or the spread of an invasive species. Or a liquid spilling from a never-ending spout. Whatever it was, it was certainly exponential, without any sort of upper limit. Any single point in time could branch off into infinity, which could also branch off, and on and on and on. For other, lesser minds, that might have been a concept too difficult to truly grasp, but Ed's was unique in its brilliance, so of course he understood the theory quite easily.

Theory, of course, meant in the way that gravity was a theory. He'd performed the necessary tests, recorded his findings, and replicated the process until it was an irrefutable piece of knowledge.

He was going to rewrite his own history.
____
Ed figures out how to time travel and uses it to break his own past as much as possible.
____
Part one of an on-going series

Chapter 1

Notes:

j- gonna be totally honest. this was entirely inspired by dr who

rc- we were talking about what would happen if Ed had access to the TARDIS and then this happened

As far as Ed was aware, time worked like the infection map of a virus. Or the spread of an invasive species. Or a liquid spilling from a never-ending spout. Whatever it was, it was certainly exponential, without any sort of upper limit. Any single point in time could branch off into infinity, which could also branch off, and on and on and on. For other, lesser minds, that might have been a concept too difficult to truly grasp, but Ed's was unique in its brilliance, so of course he understood the theory quite easily. 

Theory, of course, meant in the way that gravity was a theory. He'd performed the necessary tests, recorded his findings, and replicated the process until it was an irrefutable piece of knowledge. Many notebooks filled, his stomach caved in from too many meals missed, an absolute mess of a warehouse later, and he finally had what he was after. He was about to perform a task so many had dreamed and never gotten a chance to actually accomplish. 

He was going to rewrite his own history.

Lesser men stewed in their regrets, but not him, no siree! He was going to fix every misstep, find the one thread of time where his true life was supposed to take place. He also might have to kill the Ed residing there, but that was simply semantics. If that other him wasn’t smart enough to invent a counter measure then he didn’t deserve that perfect life anyway. 

No time like now to get the ball rolling. He turned the spinning daises, setting a time that was six years back from his current present. The past him should still be slaving away at that grindstone nine-to-five, but that should be easy enough to remedy once he took care of the main reason he’d invented such a feat in the first place. 

Oswald. 

All of his problems could be traced back to Oswald. His promising future, his blissful relationships, his reputation, and his mental stability, all were so cruelly torn asunder by Oswald’s greedy hands — his greatest enemy. But! With his clever invention, none of that terrible-ness needed to occur!

He tapped the small button on the top of his watch thrice, and, in the span of a single blink, the world shifted around him. 

The particular drop-off point he’d chosen was a short walk outside Gotham’s city limits. The forest that butted up against the wealthier neighborhoods would be, for the most part, untouched by the bustle of city life, therefore making it less likely that he’d be spotted by average passers-by. Nothing to stir panic like a suddenly appearing man!

Around him, he noticed that some of the vegetation he’d been standing in was younger, a toppled tree now upright, grasses and weeds sprung up in a different orientation, but six years wasn’t that long for old forests like this to change, he’d have to get into the city to see any real differences. His car was missing, but that was a given, and he’d never been shy to do a spot of labor to enact one of his brilliant schemes. 

As he began his trek, he checked his pockets. From previous tests, he knew that all of his belongings that were on his person should have made the jump with him, and the gun in his hand didn’t look any worse for wear. Of course, he believed that Oswald’s death deserved a bit more fanfare, some panache to add some theatricality to the end of a man that had endeavored to vex him as none other had, but this Oswald didn’t share their history. In fact, he wouldn’t for a couple years now, which meant that he was essentially just executing a stranger, which barely deserved the title of an execution. Closer to squashing an ant before it could direct its colony to nest in his baseboards. 

Simply fixing a problem before it could begin. Quick and clean. Then he could get back to business. It would be something of a relief, honestly, to not spend each agonizing second consumed by this. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have other things he’d rather be doing, not that he could expect Oswald to understand that. Not with the way that the man insisted on harassing Ed with his very existence.

No matter. An hour or so, and his every problem would be over. He could barely begin to fathom the freedom that awaited him once the task was completed. Oswald would no longer have his thumb on the scale of Ed’s life. An entire lifetime, completely untouched by Oswald’s influence, a path that he could walk freely without that man’s memory striving to dictate. He could hardly wait. 

True, his previous attempts to kill Oswald had had some undesirable side effects. This time there would be no such thing because Oswald would be no one and nothing to him. It was flawless. He began to whistle to himself. There was a faint tingling clawing at his nerves, a sensation somewhat akin to plummeting. That had to be the excitement. 

The short patch of time had done nothing to improve the city, he noted as he melted into her winding streets. He had to expect that. And in any case, he wasn’t here on sentiment, or to taste the sting of engine fume and misery that hung over the place. He was here on business. 

Yanking the scarf over his face, he dove into what he knew would be the correct alley. The correct alley at the correct time. The sun hung loosely in the sky, and there was a faint murmur as the city continued to bustle mindlessly, caring nothing for his purpose. It seemed like any ordinary day. He supposed it might indeed have been, to the witless fools ambling their way through purposeless and empty lives. Not for him though. This was going to be the day that his life could finally begin. 

Slinking into a corner, he waited. His foot was tapping, and it was taking all of his might to hold back the surge of energy threatening to burst through him. It would be approximately thirty seconds before his nemesis appeared around the corner and for the very last time invaded Ed’s space. Not his enemy yet, he reasoned. The larval form of what was destined to become his enemy. Still.

There was no fanfare announcing the man’s presence. He simply appeared, began striding forward, entirely ignorant of Ed’s presence. He could hear him cursing under his breath, occasionally stopping to emit one of those signature sulks as he whinged to himself about some indignity or other. Ed averted his face. Best not to look. Best not to even run the risk of being beholden to any of those brain chemicals that might threaten to thwart his purpose. He clenched his teeth, as some magnetic power took hold of his head and turned it, compelling him to steal a glance anyway.

A haze of disparate images assaulted his mind as he wrenched his head back, stupid , he’d known precisely what might happen if he took in the gleam of Oswald’s eyes, the stance that this younger him took with his arms tightly folded across his chest, and his shoulders hunched forward. And that infuriating smattering of freckles dotting his face. His hand roved to the gun and tightened. That only proved it. This needed to happen, not just to secure his future, but to banish this weakness he had inside himself. 

It wasn’t the same though, he could tell that immediately. This Oswald wasn’t fashioned in his expensive suits, fine leather and fur and striking plumage to match. His hair was limp, his cheap suit ill-fitted, and worst of all, he walked in smooth, uninterrupted strides. He was practically looking at a stranger. 

If this Oswald saw him, he’d also say he was looking at a stranger. 

All the better to get this done quick and easy. Another low-life left to rot in Gotham’s cruel back alleys. The image of Oswald, left to fester behind some stinking dumpster just…didn’t sit right, but he supposed that was only the lingering image of the Oswald he knew superimposed on top of this man. 

Briefly, Ed thought of what he might say if he introduced himself. Certainly no recognition, not the typical ‘oh, what do you want this time’ s he’d received as of late. Better to not know. 

He sucked in a breath as Oswald breezed past him. Felt the full bite of it as that fresh face sneered up at him, with his lip parted and his teeth bared. A warning, rather like one given by a kitten that wasn’t cognizant of its own frailty. It was only a relief that he’d thought to cover his face. Not that he was sure why it was so, Oswald would be dead in a moment and wouldn’t be able to identify him anyway. He didn’t have time, or much need to ponder that. Hardly as though such a genius plan ought to be cause for what lesser men might erroneously label ‘shame’. Nothing to be ashamed of, it was utterly perfect. His fingers grazed at the gun, he felt the coolness of it spark against his senses as he clumsily pulled it from his pocket.

If his target had noticed the shuffling behind him, it hadn’t seemed to slow him in his own trek. He held the gun aloft, hand wavering. Mentally calculating the trajectory, his thumb caressed at the trigger. 

A slight adjustment of pressure, and then Ed’s every problem would be over. His pulse was pounding, there was a roaring in his ears. He could feel his legs threatening to give out under him. 

Everything happened in the wrong order. He witnessed Oswald doubling up, then he heard the shot ring out, then he was aware that he’d fired. Couldn’t identify the surge of something akin to nausea that had taken hold of him. Oswald stumbled on shaky feet, and through too-thick seeming air, those feet took a swooping step and he saw his head begin to turn backwards.

Another shot. A whoop emerged from his throat accompanied by a symphony of jubilation. He’d done it! No need for the version of himself that would be reaping the benefits to thank him, after all, he’d be slotting into his life soon enough. He just needed to ensure that the job was truly complete. Then he’d not have to think about this anymore.

He just needed to check the little body that was crumpling to the ground. Give a finishing shot to the temple if necessary. Then he could move on. But he could hear the whimpering, the rasping struggle for breath. It didn’t feel like victory. It didn’t feel like completion. It felt like a gurgling, painful misery, a churning plea that somehow succeeded in piercing through him. Even the sight of him slumped against the ground felt somehow wrong. 

Simply Oswald’s final trick against him. 

Fine. Leave the man to his ploys. By his estimations, and the widening spread of his spilling blood, he wouldn’t last long. His soft cries were already quieting, pleading little ‘why?’s that wouldn’t help him in the slightest. 

Ed turned on his heel and strutted out of the alley. His job complete, it was time to find a long-abandoned building to jump forward in. This city would surely look different without Oswald’s influence, he would surely be different. Even if his ultimate goal was to take the other-him’s place, might as well see what he was able to accomplish during that time without this weight dragging him down. 

A Gotham without Oswald. He’d turned the corner already so he couldn’t give in to the urge to look back at his corpse. The thought irked him, like a hangnail. But. Deed was done. Nothing left to consider. He stepped into an asbestos-riddled apartment complex that was as condemned now as it would be in the future, and set his watch once more to the date he came from. 

 

Lifting up his finger from the depressed button, the only change he noticed was more dust settled on the ground, a tad more rubble and graffiti spread through the interior. Looking around, he saw a homeless gentleman staring at him with wide eyes, a shaky finger raised in his direction. 

Better skedaddle. Lots to do with no time to waste on meager distractions. He had to see where the he he’d been allowed to bloom into had ended up. 

The only problem was, in a city of ten million people, finding one wouldn’t be easy. Hopefully, if all had gone according to prediction, he shouldn’t have to do that much investigating. Any Ed, especially one not shackled and distracted by Oswald’s villainous ways, would end up in the spotlight. He probably had all of Gotham eating out of his eager palm by now, praise falling at his feet, hangers-on to his every word. 

And all he had to do was take it. 

He swiftly found the nearest newsstand. Surely he would be on the front page, dazzling reporters with his latest heist, or perhaps he’d toppled the flimsy ‘justice’ system all on his lonesome and was being revered as Gotham’s primary genius! Nothing as flimsy or overthrow-able as a king. 

Nothing on the front page. Tales of his exploits would be embedded more deeply into the newspaper then, some bid to avoid causing a panic most likely. The media moguls of this un fair city were evidently embroiled in some pitiful attempt to keep the city from recognising the heights that he’d achieved, but in any case the attempt was proof that he did indeed have what passed for the authorities of the city running scared. As he tore through page after page, it incensed him to see that the conspiracy went so deep that there seemed to be no mention of him at all.

Most disappointing for the Ed who inhabited this timeline to permit such trifles. But then, it was likely that he had a good reason. Ed’s own mind was inscrutable, so it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that another him would be equally as tricky to anticipate. That was what he expected of him in fact. 

Still posed a conundrum as to how he was possibly going to find himself though.

“Hey!” the vendor very rudely interrupted his train of thought. “It’s you!”

“Of course,” Ed said, clasping a proud hand to his chest. “The one. The only—”

“Yeah!” the vendor clapped. As he well should. Ed felt his body tilting forward in the form of a bow, his arms extending to add flourish. “If it weren’t for you, we’d never have got that stain out of the couch. That stuff really did the trick! Thanks, pal.”

Ed’s brow furrowed. Well, that was unexpected. Suppose that the him from this timeline had been handing out tips as prizes in the games that he was running. Cheaper than a cash prize, although the sheer exhilaration of winning one’s life ought to be enough. It would all come to make sense in time, he was certain of it. Once he’d reclaimed his place in this perfect life that he’d made for himself, that element could be quite easily fixed in any case. 

“Red wine’s a killer,” the vendor said. 

Ed shook his head. “Not really. Provided you get some sodium on it immediately, for most fabrics, that will—”

“Ha!” the vendor chortled. “You said the thing! That’s uncanny!”

Ed did not want to talk to this person anymore. It was as though he believed himself to be in conversation with some dullard who was overly concerned with some dingy stain on a doubtless exceedingly dull couch, and not the genius who at this very moment was in the process of upending the very laws of time. Still, it was a lead, and he may as well force himself through the indignity. 

“Can I have your autograph?”

Well, that part made sense at least. Ed even managed to force a smile as he scribbled his name over the bunched up magazine that had been thrust into his hands. Scanning his gaze over the glossy sheets, he took in the picture of himself in this timeline. Seemed cheery enough, although these publications were always deceptive. Whatever it was that he’d written in what seemed to be his own column was banal and barely worthy of a mind such as his, all sound advice though. Quite a thorough walk-through on removing a canine vomit stain from a chaise lounge. Hardly cause for concern. If this Ed had hobbies that he himself did not see the need to pursue, those could quite easily be dropped. 

The vendor took the magazine, his face creasing up. “Oh. Change your name?”

“Hardly,” he replied. He’d already turned to leave, before realising that he perhaps really ought to pursue the line of enquiry. “What name?”

“Your name?”

“Yes, I know my name. But—”

“Oh, I get it. Hey, paper’s free — I know how rough divorces can get.”

So he was married in this timeline. Most interesting. Not at all what he’d anticipated. But he supposed that if this Ed had found some doll to coo over him and tell him how brilliant he was, then that wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. It was difficult to imagine life married to anyone but Kri — Isabella, and it couldn’t be her because without her death, then his own apotheosis wouldn’t have taken place. Regrettable, but these were the very challenges that the pursuit of changing history naturally brought about. If anyone could handle it, he could. And what did this dolt mean by a ‘change of name’, anyway? It seemed that he may have had his thumb over the bottom of the page.

“Give me that!” he snapped, snatching the magazine back out of the man’s hands. He scurried through the array of advertisements for frankly hideous items of furniture and various cleaning supplies until he was once again confronted by his own face. 

His chest seized. Without the conscious consent of his mind, and a yell that he could hear without feeling, his fingers started to rip at the sheets, flurries of paper flew around his head in an untidy shower even as he paid no mind to the web of paper cuts forming on his skin. He waved the remnant of the destroyed publication wildly in his grip. “Fun fact!” he jabbered, as he batted the thing against the air, to the clear consternation of the vendor. “The human brain is prone to filling in gaps! It’s known as perceptual completion! So we expect to see things—” he roared his way through each distinct syllable, hands flailing wildly, one reached to grip at his scalp, “—and this absolute humdinger of an organ, simply starts exaggerating! Conjuring information out of nothing! Inventing nonsense! Isn’t that something? Isn’t it just?” he added with a finishing rasp as he closed in on the man whose eyes had turned to terror. 

Because there was no way that the name at the bottom of the article, attached to a photo of his head, was Edward Cobblepot . 

The entire point of this endeavour was to get rid of the man, so why had he succeeded in somehow stealing Ed’s very name, from beyond the grave too? The pun didn’t even work anymore! What was the earthly point if the pun didn’t work? Of all the cruel, selfish — at least he still had his gun.

This was such an exasperating turn of events. He supposed that he ought to give himself a brainscan, just to ensure that everything was firing on all cylinders. But that was unnecessary, he may have been assaulted by bouts of sluggishness due to recent events, but seeing things that weren’t there wasn’t one of the symptoms. 

“Very clever, Ed,” he murmured to himself as the pieces hurridley began to slot into place. “Wormed your way in with the Van Dahls did you? Somehow sniffed out that inheritance and beelined to rake it all in!? So then why didn’t you change your name to—” and he cut the sentence off. 

He’d have to go down there and figure out just what on earth this alternate Ed was up to. A little reconnaissance, and this would all have a perfectly rational explanation, he was absolutely certain of it. 

Notes:

j- i think he'd made a fine soap salesman

rc- pray for J's bellybutton it has too much lint in it

Chapter 2

Notes:

j- only thing worse than one ed is two eds
rc - double the trouble double the fun!

The hot-wired car rolled to a gentle stop. Arriving at the mansion that had served as a makeshift hideout for him in the recent past, he’d expected the sense of foreboding that washed over him. He was exactly correct in his anticipations, but even he hadn’t fathomed by what degree. It was something intangible emanating from the structure, something teasing at the edges of his mind that he couldn’t quite perceive that had triggered the sensation. Something to do with precognitive judgement of course, the brain had to make billions of tiny calculations every second in order to keep the host functional, and one of those might well factor it in if something was different. Even if the difference was something insubstantial enough to be beneath conscious notice.

Something beneath conscious notice oughtn't be worth troubling himself about. But he was on a fact-finding mission, and it also shouldn’t be the case that a mind such as his would simply brush over the details. Not until he knew for sure which details were and weren’t important. He would simply have to figure out what it was that was different. 

There were a couple extra cars in the driveway, a few more bodies moving in the windows. Guards were posted further away, not close enough to intercept the golden glow spilling out from a side door opened. 

He’d never met her, not alive anyway, but from this distance he could still make out the frail shape of Oswald’s aging mother. He watched as she bent down, plucked a few flowers from an overly full planter, and made her way back inside. 

How…unexpected. It seemed that Oswald’s death had saved her life, though upon further consideration, that was practically an inevitability. A liability, that old broad was, considering Oswald’s line of work. Perhaps this Ed had taken advantage of the hole in her life her son had left, discovered the wealthy absent father in order to provide himself with a consistent benefactor. That was appropriately devious, and surely a scheme that would align with the (temporary, no doubt) change of his name.

There was risk stepping out, but a calculated one. The guards nearest him simply waved him by, as he predicted they would, and he was able to see the home up close. 

The central warmth was emanating from the dining hall. Foolish guards might not have noticed the fact that there were (likely) two Edwards skulking about, but the people inside surely would. He had to know what he was dealing with before he took his own place. The plan would still proceed as he made it, he only had to fix a few minor issues about the life the other him was leading. 

He found a suitable hiding spot near the wide, back bay windows — a full view of the dining room that he could spy on through the scratchy hedges. One was cracked, letting in the summer air and letting out the soft sounds of a record player and light conversation. From his position, he could see both of Oswald’s parents bustling around, setting plates and silverware and hand-towel wrapped dishes. Gertrude, flowers in hand, tucked one into Elijah’s breast pocket and kissed him on the cheek before she turned to venture further into the house. 

Ed swallowed and his nails bit into his palm. The scene was so…idyllic. Something out of a Christmas card. It was hard to see how his genius self could fit into such banal frivolity, but perhaps this Ed was simply not as smart as he was, though he couldn’t imagine a version of himself that would tolerate such mundanity. 

She came back a moment later, followed swiftly by himself — sans hat and adorned in a much more muted suit. He supposed the closet would need to be updated as well. This other him then called something unintelligible behind his shoulder and held the dining room door open. 

Ed’s breath caught. He blinked twice and pinched the back of his hand, but nope, the apparition stayed within his vision. Less and less of an apparition as it appeared the rest of them were all acknowledging him. But that didn’t make a lick of sense since Oswald was supposed to be dead! A spreading, pooling stain on the concrete. 

Even worse than the fact that he was apparently still good and whole, was the easy way he glided through his home. No stutter-step, his gait even and entirely unnatural. Gertrude pulled him in, hugged him briefly, and tucked one of her flowers into his breast pocket, a mirror of his father’s, then did the same to Ed, like they were all some stomach-turning matching set. 

He couldn’t watch, it was sickening, like seeing himself through a circus mirror. The gentle way she touched his cheek, the hand on his shoulder from Oswald’s father, the—

The way he kissed the crown of Oswald’s head as he pulled out his chair. 

Look at them all, laughing and grinning at one another as they passed dishes around, filled plates and wine glasses. Nauseatingly pleasant conversation floated by, caught on the wind as if tailored to taunt Ed with every syllable. How could the other him stand this? How could he sit there with his head ducked in humility as this not-Oswald brushed a hair out of his face?

He’d been…brainwashed. Or this was an illusion of some sort. Oswald had kidnapped him and forced his hand to be bound in marriage, or…or something. There had to be a more rational explanation than what his eyes were perceiving. 

But no, the longer the dreadfully nice meal went on, the more it became abundantly aware to him that the Ed in front of him was exactly where he intended to be. More often than not, he was the one extending a forkful from his own plate to be tasted by Oswald’s lips, touching Oswald’s cheek to wipe away a smudge, offering his hand to clasp as Oswald recounted some tale or another. 

Surely, there was another explanation. Some sort of farce. It was unbelievable to be anything else. As the light from the lit fireplace behind them glanced off the ring on that Ed’s finger, he pulled himself from the shrubberies. The ‘family’ was distracted at the moment, which should give him a few minutes to poke around, figure out what really was going on.

 

If there was one thing that he had come to understand about himself, it was that he was an exceptional actor. Why, he’d glided beneath the very notice of those ignorant fools at the GCPD for so long, and not a one of them had suspected a thing, until he wished for them to do so. He’d equally persuaded Barbara Kean into working with him, and she’d had no idea just how little her plans had actually mattered to him, even though he’d told her repeatedly to her face! That was just how good he was. That must be what he was witnessing now. Clearly, the Ed in this lifetime had mastered the same talent and he’d been seeing it in action. So of course he was the perfect picture of cheery domesticity in the company of the walking wallets. Of course that Ed hadn’t cracked and given away his true feelings once . It would have been utterly dismal had that Ed been so amateurish. That scene would have contained precisely zero useful information. The scour at Ed’s nerves was simply testament to the fact that whatever scheme he was currently embroiled in was working.

Luckily, Oswald still seemed to favour the same bedroom he’d favoured in the prime timeline. That made it much easier to locate the correct one. There was a dull sense of something akin to dread as he took in the furnishings. Oswald’s penchant for luxury intertwined with his own fondness for the unique. Silken sheets, adorned with scribbles in cryptic languages. Rhinestones and feathers. A hairbrush on the dresser, with strands of black and brown hair in it, which was absolutely revolting. Walls utterly desecrated with photograph after photograph of the Ed from this timeline gazing adoringly at Oswald like some sort of lackey while the two were hideously entwined around one another in a textbook’s worth of varying poses. The concerning thing was that Oswald was doing too convincing a job of feigning gazing back.

How someone managed to sleep with so many sets of their own eyes staring down at them was anybody’s guess. Such a thing was eminently tasteless, not to mention a little creepy. 

But focus. Furnishings were another thing that could be fixed. It was rather fortunate for this Ed, all things considered, that he’d arrived. Hands on his hips, he craned around the room, an opulent ode to excess and needless displays of excessive emotion. If anyone was going to hide clues as to their true intent, it would be in their most intimate chamber. And with the hapless automata masquerading as himself and associates thoroughly occupied with dinner, he most likely had a good few hours to scout it out.

The bed was fully made. Ed crinkled his nose, trying to beat back the sudden tsunami of mental images with regards to the various outrages that those sheets may have been forced to bear witness to. There could have been parted thighs and arched backs and lips and tongues prying at places they had no business prying at. Fluids flying about the place. Spittle and sweat melding in a steamy embrace. Stomach-turning. Perhaps the mattress would be a good place to investigate however. He yanked back the duvet. 

Fortunately, the pristine state of the sheets indicated that the bed hadn’t been used. What a relief. Ed emitted a whoop as he surveyed it. Thank heavens, that had been rather frightening for a moment there. Of course the bed wasn’t actually used, the Ed of this timeline was still himself, and he was many things, but crazy wasn’t one of them. 

Still, it may be a good idea to get a UV light onto those sheets. In order to confirm his findings.

Hands tensed against the sheets as an ice-bolt raced through him. The strains of Oswald’s laughter echoed from the corridor, seeping into the room. The sound of his own followed. Nauseating. Also too close. Way, way too close. Getting closer. 

Did these people have no self-control? They were supposed to be at dinner, for criminey’s sake. With Oswald’s parents! Had they honestly excused themselves — no manners, that was some people's problem.

No. No, obviously they’d excused themselves to discuss whatever was going on with this feigned marriage plot. Evidently Oswald was in on it too then. Which was an odd approach for this Ed to have taken. Curiouser and curiouser. What on earth was he doing? 

He’d have all of the answers that he could ever want soon enough. Now where to go?

The closet was the obvious place to hide. But too vulnerable. He had no idea of the integrity of the structure. Suppose climbing inside caused the thing to break, and thereby gave away his position? He instead yanked a dressing partition towards himself, let it scrape across the carpet, and slunk down beside the wall. This should at least give him a much better idea of what precisely the situation was. 

Sure enough, the bedroom door swung open, and in swooped a duo of bodies obscenely woven around one another, loose with giddiness, and taut with intention , oscillating wildly between looseness and tautness. Ed craned to see it, and yes, Oswald’s arms were around that Ed’s neck. That Ed actually seemed pleased about this. There was the faint hum of rhythmic panting, which, that wasn’t anything to worry about. He supposed that it was a big house, and the trek to this room was a vast one. That Ed’s face was flushed, and that Oswald was burying his face against his shoulder, and it all seemed so — familiar . Sheer horror took hold of him as lips collided, slurping sounds raining out as faces clumsily mashed. So his worst guess had been proven correct. He’d wanted to extend this Ed a little grace. Clearly that was a mistake. 

“I insist that you dirty me up pronto, Mr. Clean,” Oswald whispered into that Ed’s ear. And to Ed’s absolute gall, he saw that Ed giggling. No! That was absolutely not—

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” that Ed chuckled, the pair still careening carelessly across the room. Some form of dance, accompanied by music only heard by them. A clumsy, ill-coordinated affair, comprised of hips rocking in tandem, and heat-laced gasps. Shaky limbs that acted of their own volition. Fingers luridly groping at tie-pins, and then ties. Fabric sliding off of shoulders, cotton nigh-on see-through from the pools of sweat leaking from throbbing glands. 

It would serve these people right when the sheen of drool shining from both chins resulted in a bout of soreness in the morning. 

“You’ll make it work,” Oswald practically purred, the sultry tint of his voice utterly unmistakable, one of his legs climbing around the back of that Ed’s thigh, a vulgar exhibition that no man should have to witness. “You can do anything you know. One of the many qualities that I love about you.”

Pretender Ed responded with a gratified moan, his voice stuttering as he ground against what Ed supposed he might very charitably call his mate . The animalistic way that he wrenched Oswald’s hand out from between the tight press of bodies, smoothly whipped a glove off of the palm, and then placed the digits at his mouth, tongue delving out to swipe over them certainly indicated that it was appropriate terminology. “Did you know that a stable partnership can bring about improved cardiovascular health?” he crooned as he lightly nipped from one finger to the next. “Wanna take your heart for a test run?”

What did the oils Oswald bathed his hands in taste like? Rose and lavender were common delicacies so that might make sense as a thing to do on purpose. Would make more sense to go straight to the source, without letting the taste of skin and sweat mar the flavour however. Unless that was the point. Anyway, he didn’t have time to think about this. Those people were still talking. 

“Well seeing as my heart belongs to you , I’d expect you to be intimately familiar with the current state of it,” Oswald wittered, as he collapsed against this false Ed, foreheads pressed together as the terrible inevitably of more clothes coming off continued apace. 

“Fair point. New deal! Wanna review my work?”

“So that I might tell you that you’ve done such a splendid job?”

“You’ve always inspired me to do my very best,” that Ed droned. “You deserve the best! Nothing but.” Ridiculous. What a ridiculous thing to say. 

Ed clapped his hands over his ears as a hail of conspiratorial chuckling washed over him. This Ed must know! He must know very well precisely what Oswald was like and yet he still had allowed himself to fall prey to this! The foolishness! Now there was a cacophony of smacking sounds, followed by ardent, piercing moans. It was a nightmare. That was what it had to be. Some nightmare pulled up from his very depths that was assaulting him relentlessly and still wasn’t stopping. He could hear the bed squeak, what he assumed must be the conjoined bodies tumbling onto it and—

He took a deep breath. Focus. Fact-finding was the purpose of the mission. He would need to observe this Ed, see what further information he could gather. If anyone was capable of braving the absolute disgrace that was happening a foot away from him, then he could. He owed it to himself. 

In the dim light, it was a feat to ascertain precisely what the situation was. He could make out his own form, being pinned to the sheets by that absolute floozy of an arch-nemesis. He was appalled by the way that Ed’s body seemed to yield in tandem with the series of kisses those traitorous lips were trailing down his chest. He was enraged by the cleft at Oswald’s spine, presented as if to invite the viewer to sink against it. He was forced to witness that Ed’s arm flinging itself around Oswald’s back as he snapped himself upright. To hear the gratified hum that raced through the heated heave of the two bodies. The almost voracious way that hands clawed at flesh, that remaining items of clothing were carelessly flung away from the sheets. The senseless carnality with which Oswald tilted his head back, shamelessly taunting his guest with the hiddenness of precisely how this noisy desire that his throat was loudly broadcasting had contorted his features. Knowing Oswald’s face rather well, Ed might hazard a guess. But there it was, under the purview of some stranger and entirely locked away from him. 

Classless, that was what it was. Almost as though the two were somehow aware that they had an audience, although there was no possibility of that being the case given that he’d hidden himself so well. Some plan to send a pooling arousal swirling through his thighs and groin, though he could hardly pay much mind to that at the moment. Not with the circumstances being as they were. 

Interminably intolerable, the way that that Ed grasped onto their worst enemy with something akin to urgency. It was perverse to see Oswald’s hips gyrate against a version of his own, Oswald’s bare back glimmering with sweat, as that man bearing his face groaned through a reddened hue. He supposed that this Ed had certainly succeeded in being surprising. He had to admit though, if it was an act, it was an exceptionally good one. There were lengths to go to in order to attain an inheritance, and then there was this. Those cries of pleasure certainly seemed to be sincere enough. 

The poor man. Oswald had utterly ensnared him. Perhaps he ought to have seen it coming. There’d be no sense in even having an enemy who displayed no ingenuity after all. 

“Darling!” Oswald whined in a thick voice that barely breached through the tangle of limbs. The simpering sweetness set something off deep within him, something indescribable. As did the accompanying hum in his own voice. Against the slide of bodies, the squelch of skin, he heard him breathlessly pant “Darling,” lower now. Heady whines laced with lust just weren’t stopping . Much as Ed internally pleaded with the horror show to stop, it utterly refused to obey his whims.

‘S’an excellent cure for hiccups!” that false version of his false self wailed, as he thrashed more insistently against their shared enemy. Ed found himself averting his eyes as they were nonetheless blighted by the sheer gentleness with which that enemy stroked at him, as though he were working him through it. Of course he was, Ed reasoned. Working his way through just how helpless he was underneath Oswald’s deceiving touch. What a relief that he himself would never fall victim to such an obvious ploy.

And there was no need to ponder the amorous radiance that shone out as the twosome feigned the guise of lovers, with a series of lingering kisses and contented breaths as the frenetic movement seemed to come to a lazily slowed rhythm.

“Oh!” The other Ed popped off from where he was suckling around Oswald’s pulse point. “I got you something, wait here.” He scrambled until he was free from the cage of Oswald’s limbs. 

“Do you have to do this now?”

“Technically, I planned for twenty-three minutes ago, but as you might’ve been aware, we got a little distracted.” The smile he shot at Ed’s singular, tyrannical enemy was downright salacious. Promising, with every negative connotation he could apply to the word. “We can pick up after! I have a feeling you’ll want to.”

“I always want to, no presents required. But, I suppose I can wait.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

“I don’t believe my heart could be any fonder of you than it already is, but still you find new ways to endear me every moment. I’ll count the seconds until your return, my love.”

It seemed that last, vomit-inducing bid was enough to make this Ed to lean down once more, to impart a ‘farewell’ into Oswald’s mouth. Swiftly, it deepened again, hums and moans filling up the bedroom. For a moment, he was sure that this Ed had forgotten about the supposed gift he intended to go get when he finally broke away and pulled on his discarded clothes scattered across the floor. 

“Right back,” he promised once more. Oswald hummed and sprawled out languidly against the bed sheets, laid like a picture. The folds of fabric elegantly contrasting with his soft skin and emphasizing the redness that had spread to his chest—

All, um, carefully constructed, of course. To make himself seem appealing. Just another facet of how he’d trapped this dolt of an Ed to him, but little did this vixen know that the primary Ed was onto his schemes. 

The other one scampered off, hastily buttoning his shirt as the door swung behind him. Now, just Oswald was left, of course unknowingly witnessed by Ed himself. Perhaps he’d drop the veneer now that the lesser him was gone, giving him some clue on how to proceed. 

Notes:

rc - S'why Ed is Gotham's most eligible bachelor, you learn so many fun sex facts during. The experience may not be enjoyable, but it IS informative so y'know. That's something.

Chapter 3

“Damn him,” he heard Oswald sigh. This was it, the big reveal. The seduction had been entirely a farce and Oswald’s aim had only been to entrap him, or better yet, use that brilliant brain of his to do his bidding. Only Oswald would come up with a lot in life so banal and unrewarding as to make Ed be a carpet-cleaning columnist, and he’d only accomplish such a feat with an extremely thorough mind-wiping. Perhaps this Ed was so entangled in some twisted erotic fantasy that he couldn’t see the nefarious ploys of the man that had entrapped him so. 

Ed was snapped from his musings by a long, high moan, peeking around the partition just enough to see Oswald’s hand stroking at the junction between his thighs. 

Oh. Oh dear. 

This…this wasn’t helpful. He should look away. Now. Right now he should look away. At this very moment he should close his eyes and turn his head and stop watching the way Oswald’s hand was moving up and down and twisting slightly. There was nothing to gain listening to the soft, breathy chants of his own name — no, not his name. Clearly this Oswald was calling out to that Ed and—

“‘Right back’ he says.” The panting, shifting, and sighs stopped. “If only.”

With that, Oswald pushed himself from the bed and strided (smoothly, it still looked wrong) to the on-suite. Ed pointedly did not look at his unfastened clothes. 

Conundrums abound. He could either follow Oswald, pretend to be himself and demand more answers, or find the other Ed. Second option had more risks, but…the first seemed unbearable at the moment. Because it was the worse option, obviously. And it was far less likely that Ed would end up lying to himself, so the best course of action was to figure out where he had gone, slip away in the moment Oswald wouldn’t be looking. 

Quickly, he scampered from the bedroom, trying to logic out the path the other Ed would have taken. There were many rooms in the aging mansion, and though he remembered most of them, it was hard to say which would’ve been altered by the changing years. His first stop was his old bedroom, which seemed to be unoccupied, then the previously perpetually closed bedroom that, upon inspection, seemed to be where Oswald’s parents slept. Time to work more methodically. 

Cautiously, he avoided any collisions with the sparse house staff and Oswald’s parents, taking the time to peek into every room to find his own face. After the tenth, when he was about to give up and try to go back to his hiding spot, he heard his own voice coming from the cracked open door of the smallest sitting room. 

“Flowers, check. Wine, check. Photobook, check. Five years, five, five means wood. Wooden carving, check. Is it too late to hide a knife inside? There’s the switchblade, turn the head for a quick release. Shouldn’t take too long to assem—”

Ed pushed the door open with a squeak and swiftly shut it behind himself.

“Oswald! I told you—” The other Ed froze, staring at him with a slack jaw. The closed switchblade was held in his fist, although his frozen stance demonstrated that he was fortunately in no fit state to use it. “Oh boy. I’m not you, but I’m in your home. I’m not your spouse, but I’m in your bed, what am I?”

“An intruder,” Ed breezily responded, with a wave of his hand, as his stomping feet bade him to close in on the rube. “Well, I’m a copy, but a professional might find me flawed. What am I?”

“A fake?” the other Ed squeaked back. The wide-eyed shock in his face was breached by a straightening up of his stance. His lips pursed, and he seemed to stand up taller. “Now hang on, buster!” he accentuated with a wave. “I'm sometimes white, and always wrong. I can break a heart and hurt the strong. I don’t know what you’re tryna pull! But clearly, you’re here to deceive me in some—”

“I contain perfection, a hair away. Imprecision!” Ed roared, inches from the face of this pretender. “The solution to your riddle was a lie! To deceive can encompass lying, but is not the same as the thing itself! Which—” he broke off with a cynical chuckle. “That may be fair.” He broke away, feet tottering in a circle, before coming to a stop in which he faced this simpering fraud. “Super appropriate, pal.”

The other Ed’s eyes narrowed. “What with there being two of us, I’m guessing there’s a ninety-seven per cent chance you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking. And, I won’t lie, I’m curious. Being the first person in history to actually copulate with oneself? Well, outside of the old—” and his fist motioned aside his groin, up and down, up and down. “But I am in fact happily married. And while I guess it wouldn’t technically be cheating, it also wouldn’t not be cheating. So thanks, but no thanks.”

“No!” Ed’s fingers wrenched at his hair, and he was just about succeeding in suppressing a yell. Something that he hadn’t quite anticipated was that this other version of himself would actually be quite a frustrating person to speak to. Which was just another thing that was entirely wrong with the hellscape that this timeline had presented him with. Surely, it ought to have been an opportunity for a pairing of the greatest minds in the cosmos. How on earth had that happened?

“Speaking of—” and the pretender Ed picked up the penguin carving and continued to whittle, as though Ed’s presence was barely worthy of notice. The nerve. 

Ed watched him fuss with the thing, as he slotted the knife in and out, tongue trailing over his teeth as the mental calculation going on was visible. “You seem awfully calm about just being confronted by a precise duplicate of yourself.” That in itself wasn’t too surprising, he supposed. If this ninny was indeed him, then he too wouldn’t be phased by seeing his own visage wandering into the room either. How to make it clear that this was not in fact a case of other Ed, who in this circumstances would be more appropriately named ‘other other Ed’, and was in fact a visitation from a parallel timeline. That had to be quite the thing to swallow. Best plan out how he was going to break this gently. 

Closing in on himself, he extended a hand. Murmured to himself. Reached out, and cracked a palm soundly against that Ed’s cheek. The man gasped, cradled his reddened face with a palm, and gulped at him, his eyes tragic and wet. He dropped his work onto the trolley.

“What’d you do that for!?” he wheedled. 

“You’re not imagining this!” Ed cried triumphantly. “I am in fact not a manifestation of our subconscious-”

“I assumed that. Stands to reason there’d be parallel timelines, and if that’s the case, then it isn’t outside of the realm of possibility that one version of myself cracked the secret of crossing between them. And that should such a scenario occur, the most likely outcome would be that he’d come and visit a version of himself, yes. I mean. Who else would you wanna go see?”

Ed felt as though it was he who’d been slapped. “Well,” he winced. “You could announce it with a little more fanfare than that.”

“Whatever!” second Ed drawled, with a faint toss of his head. He wandered back to the table on wheels that was adorned with flowers and wine and various goodies, hand fluttering over the top of the assembly. “I am in fact in the middle of celebrating my anniversary. So, you can wait here, or you can be on your way but if you don’t mind—”

Ed’s fist wrenched itself in his jacket, gripped at his shoulder. “I do mind! What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

The second Ed huffed, exasperated. “Celebrating my anniversary—” he repeated, dragging the syllables out slowly as though speaking to a small child. 

“Obviously,” Ed snipped back. “With him!?”

“Yeah,” second Ed ceased his tight grip on the table, a sickening, simpering grin taking hold of his features. His face seemed looser, as though he’d stopped holding himself rigidly to some hidden standard, and was instead simply allowing himself to feel. One of the many terrible things that Oswald had clearly done to him. No version of himself should be so eager to let his guard down. “You know!” he beamed, “We only found each other by random happenstance, so there’s every chance that other versions of myself weren’t so lucky.”

“Lucky?” Ed responded witheringly. “I hardly think luck-”

“Of course it’s not luck!” second Ed blathered, hands revolving wildly in the air around one another. “It isn’t and it is. With an infinity of timelines, every possibility must be accounted for. Meaning that it’s an inevitability that in at least one, a version of myself would in fact find true happiness. Wow! What an anniversary this is shaping up to be indeed! He’ll be tickled pink when I tell him.”

“Happiness?” Ed scoffed disbelievingly. “You call this happy? You’re not happy, pal. You’re deluded. This isn’t — you shouldn’t—”

“The version of me that found true happiness turned out to be me!” with a chuckle as he dinged himself in the chest. “Huh. Guess there is such a thing as luck after all.”

“No—” Ed began to protest.

“Or — of course,” second Ed, a shrug lazily wending its way through his body. “You don’t seem to be going for this. So, silly me. You and your version of Oswald are already together. Why wouldn’t you be? Every universe, I knew it!”

“Now look here!” Ed screeched. “What do you know about being happy? You have no idea what happiness is! Here you are, tied to the gilded cage of one mansion, forced to endure sexual pleasure and emotional closeness with that—that jezebel! Engage in trivial chatter with a bunch of relatives. Have the peons out there celebrate you for, for what? For brightening up their pointless little lives? You call this happy? You need to go back to school, pal. Clearly you’ve forgotten what words mean, ”

“Pictures tell a thousand words,” the second Ed grinned, retrieving the photobook from the assortment on the table. “Look!” as he began to flip through them. “Here’s me and Oswald last week, eating ice cream! And here’s us a fortnight ago, on the ferris wheel. Here we are two weeks and three days ago, in bed—”

“I don’t want to see that!” Ed yelped, bunching an arm over his eyes. 

“Fair dos! That’s nothing compared to—” and the schmaltz in the second Ed’s voice was unfathomably treacly. There was an itch in Ed's mind. He knew that the best way to resist the enticing lie that was being painted around him was not to look. But that would mean a mystery unsolved, a piece of knowledge that he had not confronted. He heard the page turn, and he found himself lowering the arm even as he cursed the need to do it. 

“Our wedding day” He had to suppress a heave as he scanned over the images that were being indecently thrust into his eyeline. That Ed, and this Oswald. Hugging Oswald’s parents. Feeding each other cake. Draped over one another in the poxy grounds of this poxy house, with the faint glow of the dusk illuminating them in a gentle splendour, and in each appalling iteration, those people had their eyes firmly fixed only on one another. 

“Seems pretty cheap,” Ed pushed the words out of his mouth, finding the task difficult, as an array of scouring darkness had suddenly wrapped itself around his chest. Entirely unbidden, this relationship was an utter farce, so obviously any commemoration of it would be so too. He didn’t know what it was that made that fact feel so shaky.

“Well, the ceremony was at city hall, but the real celebration was at the house. With family. Sometimes we joke about breaking up, just so we can do it all again! But, it was perfect. So why revisit it?” He broke off with a light chuckle. “Funny thing is, pop-pops and momsy-”

“ Do not call Oswald’s parents that! And that is not family! That’s his family!”

“He is my family. And his folks have been most supportive. Super-duper in-laws! Astonishing. Anyway. They sat us down and asked us to consider whether it was too soon. Which is crazy . We waited an entire year before getting hitched! A year!? An eternity, more like!”

“Hogwash,” Ed spat, abruptly cutting him off.

“Jealous? Well, that’s only logical since clearly you and your hubby are going through a spat. Listen, I can be magnanimous, especially to an Ed in need. Here.” He tossed one of the bouquets to him, which nearly slipped from his hands as he struggled to catch it. The flowers, all peeking up in a variety of purple hues, looked almost as if they were mocking him. Calling out to him in cloyingly high little voices. “He’ll see through it if you just try to apologize, so better to make a gesture. Oswald loves a gesture.”

“Apolo— no!” He dropped the flowers, throwing them down like they were poisonous. In fact, they likely were, this scoundrel was trying to throw him off balance, incapacitate him with such innocuous means. Well Ed was smarter than such simplistic tactics! “I have no need for flowers or photos, and this—” He gestured to the barrage of anniversary frippery behind them. “Is frankly revolting. Where’s the wit? The lone wolf holding the city by its tongue? You’re — you’re a kept man! A patsy! How did he break you to turn you into this?”

That Ed picked up the flowers and brushed off the petals, righting them into their previous orientation. “Breakup was that bad, huh?”

“No breakups! No divorces or splits or separations or annulments! In fact, I sorely wish I never met the man! Whatever allure he might have is completely outclassed by his selfishness, his need to use and trample and claim it was all for the sake of love— newsflash, Oswald! It’s not love! You don’t even know what it is, much less feel it!” 

“Why don’t—”

“Revolting! Cantankerous! Violent without a lick of sense! And now he's brainwashed me into some workaday tabloid columnist! Who sells carpet cleaner! I should’ve made sure he was dead when I first came here.”

“Pardon?” The air in the room felt like it dropped at least ten degrees. An impassioned ramble had spilled from him, though truly why should it matter? He was just waking this Ed up to the truth. 

Ed raised his chin, straightened his spine. Better to deliver the news with as much grace as he could afford this imperfect copy. “Your ‘husband’ is a lying cheat, and you deserve to know this from someone who only has your best interests at heart. He’ll build you up, pretend to be your ally, your friend, and right when you’re riding high, the entire world at your fingertips, he’ll kill the woman you love!”

“‘Woman’? That makes no sense, I love Oswald and I’ve only loved Oswald, now when you said—”

“His influence runs too deep in you! You have to fight it, tear out that piece of you that wants nothing more than to bask in his presence. It's just an aura he manifests, another trick. My hypothesis is that since he’s had so long to work on you, you don’t even realize his influence now, a complete indoctrination. It’s likely more powerful since he’s convinced you to engage with him in a physical relationship—”

“Listen here, bucko! My husband started my life! Before him, I was this pathetic, grindstone nobody who couldn’t get the time of day from a preacher in a confession booth! But he saw what I could be—”

“A cleaning supply salesman?”

“A genius. A man that could lull the city with his banal daytime persona and wreak havoc upon its underbelly. You sir, are looking at the most terrifying and successful enforcer Gotham has ever witnessed. And—” he set the adornments aside and encroached on Ed’s space. “I’d really like to know what you meant by ‘made sure he was dead’.”

Perhaps it was the fact that he was addressing his own face, knowing all that he himself was capable of, but he felt a shiver run down his spine. He’d simply been trying to make him see reason, though the reasoning behind that reason seemed to have strayed from his original goal. What was that again? Oh yes, kill him. Take his place. This plan could still be saved, especially considering that Oswald appeared to trust him to such a degree and he wasn’t as divorced from his underworld position as he thought. 

Still, he couldn’t resist the reveal. What showman could?

“It seems an odd consistency across the timelines, one that I’ll admit I had not considered, that Oswald seems incapable of dying from a gunshot wound. Anyone else would have bled out on the sidewalk — two shots this time! Since my own Oswald was able to take one. Frankly, I’m curious how he made it out.”

“That was you? Six years ago, the random assailant that accosted him for no rhyme or reason, that was you?”

“The one and the only.” He had half a mind to take a bow. Again. “And actually I had an excellent reason. Or reasons. Really your whole existence should be evidence enough—”

A sharp peel of laughter cut through his speech. Boisterous and loud, mocking — which he recognized solely for the fact that that exact cadence had spilled from his own lips. “Oh this is rich! I get it now, of course! You were trying to kill him so you could live in this world where we never met, but you’re the reason we did!” He pressed a hand to his forehead, the gleam of his shiny, golden wedding band obvious. “You’re the reason I fell in love with him!”

“What are you talking about?”

“That night, when you shot him, I heard those gunshots! I was the first on the scene! I took him home, saved his life, and well, you can see how the dominoes fell.”

“That—” The information formed a cacophony of absolute gibberish that was beating and swarming in his mind, utterly failing to coalesce into a singular thought that he could get a grip on. “ You !? You pulled him from the brink of death, and—but— no ! Why couldn’t you leave things alone? How dare you go meddling with things that in no way concern you! You’re a disgrace to who we are! Everything was perfectly in place! But, oh no! I cracked time-travel to make this happen! And you just—”

“Who we are? From where I’m standing, you’re the disgrace. Pathetic enough to crawl to another timeline because you can’t get a handle on your own!”

“I have an expert handle! You simply conspired to ruin it for me! You were supposed to be building a life entirely independently of Oswald, that was the purpose of this endeavour! Instead, here you are, embedded in his apron strings! Did you just want to make my life difficult?”

“‘An independent life’? You mean the one we used to live? Alone? Unnoticed? I’m living precisely the way I was always meant to, and I think you’re the one here to test it. Fine! If that’s how it must be, then it seems we have no choice but to duel!” That Ed unbuttoned his jacket and loosened his tie, to which Ed followed in turn. “Fisticuffs then, on guard!”

He swung at Ed with wild abandon, all the ferocity of one trying desperately to preserve this worthless little life, but Ed was just as eager to take what he was owed. He absorbed the punch with only minimal wheezing and tried to swing back, though his fist whizzed clearly past his doppelganger’s shoulder. A hit to the cheek, a return to the chest, another wildly flying off his left bicep. The flurry of exchanged blows had to be the most intense and the most deadly that this dreadfully dangerous city had ever seen, but Ed couldn’t succumb to the pain. He had a purpose . One he intended to see through. 

Another blow sent him stumbling back, crashing into the table behind him. The photobook was still proudly displaying those disgusting nuptial photos, irritatingly bright smiles atop dreadfully fashionable suits. Fumbling for his gun, he saw it, sliding uselessly across the floor. When had that escaped his grasp? No matter. The hand-carved penguin statue tipped and hit the blade edge that the other him was about to shove into it. 

Ed snatched it and bounded forward, the knife’s glint unseen by his attacker until it was already sheathed in his gut.

The flurry of movement halted in that single breath. Unlike the first time Ed had killed like this, he didn’t take the blade out, instead he twisted the hilt, relishing the pained groan the other him wheezed. Privately, he’d admit that hurting himself, killing that man-in-the-mirror had been a long-held fantasy of his, and while imperfect, this was playing out better than he could’ve hoped. Oddly gratifying, like an adult fulfilling the childhood wish of having ice cream for dinner.

“Don’t—”

“Don’t what? Kill you? The deed’s already done, buddy. Feel that?” He turned the hilt a quarter of an inch up. “Knicked another artery. You’ll be dead within minutes, seconds really, since I’m still the one with the knife.”

“Don’t hurt him. Please …don’t hurt him.”

Ed shoved him off his knife. How pedestrian, how banal for last words. Couldn’t he see that they were more brilliant? More dangerous and conniving and…and better than to have made such frivolous pleads? Why couldn’t he see that? How could any him have turned out like this?

That Ed fell to his knees, clutching the wound in his stomach, not that it would do much good. Might as well put the sod out of his misery.

He grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head back. This other him didn’t deserve the bid for any last words, so he didn’t offer one, but still with his last breath he ecked out an “Os—” before he knife slashed across his jugular. 

What a mess. There was a spray of viscera dotted across his jacket, fortunately that shouldn’t be too difficult to cover up, by casually sliding the thing off of his shoulders and leaving it here for now. His pants also, but he was married, so he wouldn’t need too clever an explanation for why he was walking around in his boxers. Those came off too, 

The body lay slumped against the tiling. He supposed that he ought to move that. Which would be an entire kerfuffle, and frankly, he had far more pressing matters to be attending to at the precise moment. He grabbed at the body, turned it so that it was lying on its back and began to fumble in the pockets, and the deduction served him well enough, he did indeed find a key. It would be better to know precisely how many corpses he was dealing with before he began the process of removal, after all, no sense of doubling up on tasks. 

The room would need a good scrub down as well. Perhaps the staff he’d seen wandering around might be called on to attend to that. Depended how open this version of himself had been about the nighttime activities that had been alluded to. Didn’t matter! Thus far, the plan was going swimmingly. A few snags. But altogether, nothing that couldn’t be quite easily salvaged. 

He’d need to deal with Oswald of course, but at this point in his life, he could easily say that he was fairly wise to his wiles. There was a flutter as the reality of that dawned on him in fact. This time, it would be himself posing as the caring partner, while the heady glimmer of secrets roiled within him. 

Nothing too grandiose though. He’d play along with Oswald’s seductions. Even offer a kiss on the cheek, or a pet on the head if needs be. Play the doting spouse. Pity for Oswald that he’d soon be falling down the stairs. Or have the ceiling caving on him, these old houses could be quite the deathtrap! Then he’d be able to rake in the vast inheritance that would surely be coming his way. Ship off the fuddy duddies to somewhere or other. He didn’t even feel enough about them to kill them. And finally make a start on what that no-good Ed should have been doing all along.

He had to say though, much as the Ed from this timeline had made a disaster of his own attempt at living this life, it actually worked well. Unlike him, Ed hadn’t been entranced by the lure of false promises and pretend pleasure that that lying tongue had surely spent the last six years pouring into his ear. He wasn’t the one who’d grown soft by cooing reassurances, or the sickening luxury that surrounded him. He had a clear purpose, and a sharp sense of how to proceed. 

It was time for Oswald to dance to his tune for once. 

Notes:

j- there needs to be a mcd* tag. like mcd but not mcd ya know?
rc - You might think this was a bit cruel of us. But look what happens when there's two of them, d'you know how many riddles we'd've had to come up with? Some!

Chapter 4

He wheeled the table laden with goodies out of the room. He made a conscious attempt to loosen his stance. He was embodying the Ed who honestly believed that he was having a nice evening with his husband, and not the far smarter Ed who was deeply aware that he was wandering into a trap, a matryoshka trap in which every breath and every twitch would unveil only further traps. One final embellishment to complete the illusion. 

“‘Scuse me pal,” he chuckled, as he grabbed at the dead hand, and coolly slipped the ring off of the corpse’s finger. “It is only ‘til death us do part, so. You complete the sentence.” The air continued to carry that lingering silence, and a huff of air escaped his lips. “Okay. Whatever. Rude.” A titter, and then he clapped at the corpse’s face. “Kidding! Kidding. Anyway, onto business.” He wiped the ring off against his discarded jacket, and then slid it onto his own finger. 

Some part of him had expected the contact with the ring to burn, to carry with it a profound sense of the very wrongness that had been assaulting him since the moment he’d first stepped into this terrible place. Instead, it slid on quite easily. Proof, if any was needed that he was indeed fully equipped to weather any pitfalls that Oswald might place in his path. He wheeled the trolley out, and locked the door, taking in the satisfying sound of the click as he did so. Yes, he’d be very well prepared to face whatever Oswald might throw at him. 

Best to mentally plan for the confrontation though. Oswald might be waiting, flushed with a heady need that radiated desire while calling out to him in a voice that compelled one to obey. Which would be fine, it wouldn’t affect him in the slightest. He would simply make his excuses and go immediately to a feigned sleep. Oswald’s fingers might clamp around his arms, Oswald’s hair might tickle at his cheek as sweet breath pulsated at him and those fingers began to tantalizingly stroke his skin, the beat of Oswald’s pulse grinding lasciviously against his groin. He’d remain stone. Maybe Oswald would emit a puff of air right in his face so that Ed’s eyes would snap open, and he’d have no choice but to witness the sight of Oswald peeling the bedsheets from his naked form, an aroused whine of desperation now compelling Ed to succumb to his manipulations. Wouldn’t make a difference. He was bristling with exhilaration about just how easy this was going to be. He was ready for anything. 

He was cheerfully whistling as he made his way back to the bedroom.

Fortune had indeed smiled on him! Oswald’s snores announced the fact that he had completely averted any difficulty. What a wheeze! He may not even need to speak to the bunched up man on the bed at all. His time would be far better spent acquiring Oswald’s medical records. Oswald’s vices were leading him to an early grave anyway. Ed had only to figure out which was predominant in this reality, replicate the features of overdose, and then, what a pity . Failing that, heart defects ran in Oswald’s family. Which was stunningly appropriate now that he thought of it. In any case, by morning Ed would be the devastated widower whose spouse had simply failed to wake up.

A grin seeped across his face as he took a step forward, trolley before him. His foot collided with a wheel. The trolley tipped. Shards of glass rocketed themselves across the now-wine-soaked carpet, and Ed found himself pulled along with it, his hands scrabbling to grab at a curtain, which was duly ripped from the rail. The rail’s collapse bid it smash into an antique armoire, well that couldn’t have been terribly well constructed, and blocks of wood clattered with a large bang. Ed slammed into the ground, mercifully avoiding impaling himself on any of those glass shards. 

“Ed?” Oswald murmured blearily, as he pushed himself to a seated position on the mattress and began to dab at his eyes with his fingers. “You’ve returned.”

Drat. So much for that. Why did Oswald have to wake up? It wasn’t as though he was being that noisy. At least he seemed none the wiser about the switcheroo. Ed’s acting skills were impeccable. Oswald’s half-asleep state may have assisted also. Possibly. Ed took a moment to visually survey the broken ephemera now dotted around the suddenly much-less luxurious seeming bedroom. He crawled onto his knees, held up his hands. And feigned one of his most brilliant smiles. 

“Happy anniversary! Uh—” and he envisioned that lovesick fool that had passed for a version of himself, drew on all his talents to embody him and spoke with a stuttered breath. “Sugarplum.”

Oswald’s hand dropped from his eye, a burst of laughter escaping his lips. “I take it that it’s predominantly your pride that is wounded this time then, yes? Poor lamb.”

The affectionate nickname sent a glimmer of warmth throughout Ed’s core, which obviously meant that the manipulation had started right on schedule. He pulled himself to his feet, and began assessing the damage. Yanking at draws. Banging them a little. “Remind me where we keep the dustpan and broom?” 

Not that the thought of Oswald’s dainty ankle being split through by one of those glass shards was in any way troubling, far from it, the thought was delicious . He was playing it out viscerally in his mind. The agonised yell. The splash of scarlet. Flecks of skin being scraped at, bone shattering to splinters. Good, good . But he supposed that the best option was to keep busy, and also the dutiful husband that he was supposed to be playing would probably be bothered by such a thing. 

Oswald waved a hand lazily, face scrunching. “Come back to bed. Don’t concern yourself with clearing up. That’s the reason we have staff.”

“Because I’m such a klutz,” Ed found himself sulking. Wasn’t sure why. Oswald’s opinion meant absolutely nothing to him. He couldn’t fathom why the insinuation had made him feel so dejected. 

Method acting, that was it. Darn, he was good. He was doing it without even realising that he was doing it. 

He could fathom why it was he found himself sinking into the mattress, purely it seemed on Oswald’s say-so. He’d gone into this knowing that a tiny breach in his defences against Oswald’s hypnotic powers of suggestion would see him stumble, and here it was happening. A fair reminder to mentally stay the course. 

“Now now,” Oswald scolded in a voice that contained so much of that accursed fondness that had vanished from his own version’s, forever. The memory stung. Not enough to walk away from hearing it again. He tensed, as Oswald swooped the robe he was wearing over the both of them from behind, silk and Oswald working together to encase him in a venomous cocoon, rendering him a hapless prisoner who awaited the spit of Oswald’s enzymes to break him down. That was fine though. He could handle that. “We’ve discussed this. You are unpredictable . A little audacious. And yes. On the rarest of occasions, ever so slightly clumsy. But what of it? Men such as we can afford to be!”

Oswald’s head leant into the crook of his shoulder, and his fingers teased along his chest. It was for some reason making the breath feel thicker in his nostrils, and sending an itch along his thoracis. A completely unwarranted hum reverberated in his depths. He didn’t hate it as much as he’d anticipated he might when Oswald met it with a sigh of his own, there was something satisfying in the way that the noises built and intertwined against one another, as indeed Oswald’s wandering fingers seemed to fit where they came to rest neatly against his ribcage. Oswald’s thighs fit around his sides, and his lightly beating heart fit lodged against Ed’s erector spinae. A slice of something wonderful raced through him as hot breath hit the nape of his neck.

And then the scoundrel darted his head up, foisting a peck against his jaw. A bloom of wantonness spooled across Ed’s face from the very minute contact, spreading to his neck, reaching to his thighs and hips and curling his toes. If Oswald noticed the vague arch of his spine, he wasn’t giving it away. Instead, he continued to violate Ed’s ear with an airy breath. As though he had no concept that any battle was taking place at all. Ed would almost have believed it, were it not for the way that Oswald’s fingers continued to press at his flesh. A surefire way to guarantee that he never became accustomed to the contact, that there were a zillion little changes in sensation and pressure and touch forcing him to retain complete awareness, he was sure of it . 

“And it seems that you did indeed make an effort. Which is noted. Now, the label is soaked through, but if I'm not mistaken, that wine was a Richebourg, yes?”

Ed vaguely remembered that it was so, and felt Oswald shift against him as his shoulders flexed. “I guess?”

“Very funny,” Oswald said drily, as he playfully squeezed at Ed’s shoulders. “I told you that I detested it.”

“But you liked it really.” Ed said flatly. A deduction. Everything that he’d seen had indicated that the Ed of this timeline would sooner impale himself on a spike than gift Oswald with something that he didn’t like. Unless Ed had severely misread this entire reality. Which was incredibly unlikely.

“Well,” Oswald murmured. “I had just met this utterly baffling fellow. Who chided me most severely for complaining about the lack of decent wine during my convalescence, and yet somehow seemed to acquire a $4,000 bottle. Even though his financial circumstances very much did not seem to warrant such extravagance. I could hardly make things too easy for you, now could I?”

“Right,” Ed bleated. “It’s uh—it’s—it's a—”

He was rescued from the need to bluff his way through memories that quite frankly were of no interest to him — and would have been too achingly saccharine to be credible even if they were — by a gentle pressure against his shoulders bidding him to turn. Ed-from-this-universe seemed to be an easily controlled sap, so he supposed that he ought to play at being that too. 

He shuffled awkwardly against the mattress, tongue feeling too big and too dry in his mouth as he was confronted head on by the enticing ocean of Oswald’s eyes, the spackles of saliva adorning his lips, the somehow endearing haphazardness with which his hair had been sweat-stuck to his face even as such disorder ought to be maddening. The flushes of ruby breaching his pasty complexion. Those freckles - did this Oswald have the same penchant for covering those up as Oswald Prime, and did that mean that these were a secret intended only for his husband to see? A secret that Ed had nonetheless cracked, was bearing witness to, was subjecting to the strength of his gaze, entirely against the wishes of their owner? Unconfirmed, but the notion sent a thrill racing through him. It might be wise to attempt to beat back the singing in his veins and the groan in his lower depths. But why should he?

“Are you quite sure that you’re yourself?” Oswald was saying in the meantime. “Here I was, awaiting a retort, and you—” He cut himself off as his eyes widened, and his mouth parted in an expression of horror. “You’re bleeding !” 

Ed barely had an opportunity to scan down to the remaining droplets on his shirt that he’d somehow managed to entirely miss before he was gathered up in a suffocating crush against Oswald’s chest, hands roving furiously through his hair and against his back. He had but a moment to bask in the embrace before he was yanked up by his hair, and now Oswald was scowling.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were bleeding!?”

“Ah,” Ed strained to make his response sound as lighthearted as possible. “Not bleeding. Had to take care of some business. That’s why I was a lil while.”

“Oh,” Oswald said, his stance immediately loosening. “Well you might have come and fetched me first. It is a special occasion, and you know how I love to watch you work.” He accentuated it with a jab of his finger into Ed’s breastbone. “Must have been a rather thorough encounter. You smell different.”

He had to distract Oswald quickly, keep him from getting too curious. “Didn’t want any trite work business to distract us, besides”—he scanned the pile of wreckage, trying to find anything within that might catch Oswald’s focus. Some shiny trinket, keys to dangle in front of his face. “I figured that the mood might be spoiled.” 

He scooped the penguin carving from where it had tumbled near the bed and flaunted it for Oswald’s perusal. It was carefully handmade, the other him had certainly spent a lot of time carving and sanding, smoothing out the edges until the proud tilt of the little bird’s head followed perfectly along an elegant curve. Even so, there were the tell-tale signs of hand-craftsmanship. Tiny nicks and notches were marked into the edge of the webbed feet and the tips of the tail feathers; as he looked closely, he could even see a tiny speck of red — likely a spot of blood from a stray splinter or the slip of his carving knife. 

Pathetic fool, going through such an effort all for the likes of Oswald. Whatever he could be offering that simpering chump in turn couldn’t be worth a fraction. 

“Oh, my dearest, is that for me?” He took in his hands, wide and clear amazement in his face. He cradled the carving close, smoothing out the varnished edge before he bounded up to set it on the mantle, skillfully avoiding the broken mess on the floor. “It’ll make a fine centerpiece for the rest of the rookery.” 

Now that he was looking, he saw that surrounding where Oswald was adjusting and readjusting the hand-sized carving, were dozens of folded penguins, some more time-worn than others, but all very carefully displayed. 

“How’s that look?” Oswald asked, beaming at him. Trusting. How dense was he that he couldn’t tell that his own husband wasn’t the same man he’d been sitting next to at dinner? Though, with Ed’s flawless acting skills he could easily imitate the married ‘bliss’ this reality had forced upon him. 

“It's uh — fine.”

“You think it sticks out too much, hmm. You’re probably right. Perhaps the whole display needs a little rearranging.”

He fiddled with all the folded birds of varying sizes and colors with careful fingers, delicately preserving every bend and fold. It was…uncomfortable seeing Oswald handling them all with such painstaking tact — this wasn’t the Oswald he knew, he was a man of action. Even if he had a tendency to find sentimentality in frivolous things such as these, to see so many of them preserved (over years, presumably), just seemed wrong. 

“Remember this one?” He held a larger bird from the patch aloft, slightly yellowed paper covered in tightly-packed text, like a page out of a book. 

“Of course,” he said, hoping Oswald wouldn’t ask him to prove he had such knowledge. 

“‘In a word, I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong.’”

“ Great Expectations.”

“Mhmm, you gave this to me the morning before you quit, before you dedicated yourself to our empire entirely. I don’t think I told you, but by that point I was already certain that my life wouldn’t be complete without you in it. Oh! Ed, look!” He held up a much smaller one, folded from a banknote. “Our first heist! And, oh, where’s my favorite…”

He ruffled around the small army, going up on his toes to reach the back without disturbing the rest. Looking at them all made his hands feel like fidgeting. He knew precisely the way to follow that fold, could do it without looking, and had in fact presented Oswald Prime with such a token, but surely he hadn’t hoarded and elevated it like this Oswald was intent on doing. Surely it was rotting away at the bottom of some landfill. 

No, that…that actually wasn’t true. Details from the time when he was, ahem, ‘seeking counsel’ from Oswald’s hallucinated figure were admittedly hazy. Drudging up memories was more akin to picking them from sticky mud than the quick sorting he was used to, but he did remember invading Oswald’s unused bedroom, tearing through his drawers and cabinets as he dismantled the remains of the man that he’d beat so thoroughly. Of course, he wasn’t doing so to insult his supposed ‘resting’ memory — that would’ve been tasteless since his victory had been so profound — he simply was in search of some inspiration. An aesthetic to hold in mind as he looked for a replacement. 

Though, between the paisley ties and sock garters and subtly striped suits, he hadn’t anticipated finding that origami flightless bird he’d given to him while he was still in Arkham. 

Such a small, forgotten little trinket. Surely Oswald hadn’t meant to keep it, tucked behind his desk mirror. 

“Here it is!” Oswald announced, holding another aloft. This one was frayed at the edges, the white paper and black printed text graying with age. “The first one you gave me! Poor thing, look how it's coming apart.”

“I can make you a new one.” It didn’t look particularly special, made of a random sheet of scrap paper. Just like Oswald to get so needlessly attached to an insignificant little scrap, simply because of the time it was made. It’s not like there was an inherently higher value, and he doubted it was crafted more precisely than any other upon the mantle. 

“That wouldn’t be the same,” Oswald sighed. “And I doubt you’d want to spend another week at my bedside in the hospital. Doctor’s notes like these aren’t exactly an easily acquirable document, though, I suppose you wouldn’t have a problem.” He set it down, apparently satisfied with the new arrangement. “I still prefer the original, besides you can’t redo a love letter, it goes against the principle of the thing.”

“They’re not love letters,” he pointed out. Factually, they weren’t, bearing no similarities besides the material. The intent was different, obviously — given that he’d gifted Oswald Prime a similar token. But that was meant as…as an encouragement, of sorts. A reminder of what his moniker meant. This Oswald must’ve needed a lot of reminders, for he couldn’t see another reason that he and the other him would share this habit. 

“Of course they are! Unconventional as always.” Oswald joined him once again on the bed, the vee of his robe worn deeper than Ed had ever seen. From this close, he could see the telltale signs of suck bruises under his jaw. He had to fight down a flinch when he felt the cool metal of his ring touch the side of his neck where Oswald gently held him. “Is something the matter? I know tonight didn’t go entirely as expected.”

“No, of–of course not! Fun fact! Wedding rings can be dated all the way back to ancient Egypt, where they used to use braided reeds instead of precious metals.” Oswald was wrong, those little gifted paper birds didn’t mean anything, not what he thought at least. And he was nothing like that dead dunderhead he’d left in the sitting room. Which he should probably deal with sooner rather than later. 

Notes:

rc - So, so far Ed's plan is going swimmingly, absolutely perfect no one could have done any better
J- personally I couldn’t haven’t come up with a better plan sooooo

Chapter 5

Oswald’s thumb just under his jaw began to stroke back and forth, back and forth, slowly enough to send the nerves there into an excited flurry. “Are you feeling nostalgic? I’m sure you remember saying that to me when you proposed.”

The traces of warmth flickering across his senses purely from the affected affection radiating from his opponent were doing dangerous things to his mind. Which was the sharpest weapon that he had to hand in this situation. His thoughts were being clouded over by a mist, his sharp command of the room was slipping through his fingers. Part of him wasn’t caring. Part of him wanted to let it go, and that could spell disaster. 

There was only one way out of it that his increasingly foggy thoughts could still get a handle on. 

He grabbed Oswald’s shoulders tightly and kissed him. No more false anecdotes could spill from his lips then, with the added effect of tricking him into thinking there was not a thing wrong with his darling husband. Quick, and clearly practiced, Oswald wound his arms around Ed’s neck, burying his hands in his hair as he pulled the both of them towards the mattress. 

Ed surged into the wave of sensation as it flooded through him. He was playing the part, method-acting, that’s why he was drinking down the soft sounds spilling from Oswald’s throat like an expensive mulled wine. 

As per usual, his body worked to be in line with his mind’s plans. His foe would get suspicious if Ed didn’t respond physically, didn’t let out his own moans and grasp at the bare skin of Oswald’s back as he pushed down his robe and rock against the thigh that found its place between Ed’s own. It was a necessity, another act to put on. How fortunate for him that the disguise he had to don was his own face. 

He supposed it was another lucky break that Oswald was quite the looker, objectively speaking. This would surely be much more of a hardship if he was forced to play the part of a doting husband of another individual, one less — measured by impartial and dispassionate standards — attractive. 

And less adept, he supposed. The way Oswald’s tongue was scraping the back of his teeth while his nails dug harshly into his scalp gave the ideal ratio of pain-to-pleasure that made him feel as if he was about to float off the bed, thoughts spinning out as he tried to squirm closer to that restrictive hold. He wasn’t playing fair, he’d gotten to practice on that Ed thoroughly, exploiting weak points that he himself didn’t know existed. 

That Ed likewise would have his own routine down to an art at this point, a warp and weft of skilled touches and grazes of lip that would have collated themselves into a well-worn and deeply comfortable tapestry. He wouldn’t be newly intoxicated by the thrusting of hips, or the infuriating heat wresting control of his senses right now. He’d have had adequate time to master all of that. Wouldn’t feel as though he was plummeting into pleasure with no hope of ever finding a landing. 

But that Ed was a loser. Subject to the bacterium that by now would surely have begun the process of feasting upon him. And he was here. Here, with the spouse that he’d so curiously acquired, a spouse that was squealing and panting beneath him, his hungry mouth eager to suck the victor from their little tussle straight in. His hands indenting themselves into Ed’s shoulder blades, little prickles of sensation chasing along with the touch. So what good would any of that knowledge have done him? It was locked away in a now inert and useless brain.

Advantage himself, really. That quick and well-trodden routine had to have become samey. He couldn’t beat the colossal burst of exhilaration back, even if he’d wanted to. And in this instance, he didn’t very much want to. He felt the gasp race through Oswald’s body as his mouth descended against chest with renewed fervency, tongue slathering frantically against flesh with greedy laps as the taste of salty sweat and cologne compounds lit up Ed’s tongue. A light chuckle emanated from Oswald’s depths, and Ed pressed down to still him as he was suddenly hit by a mania that drove him to taste everything. To smell everything, to touch, see and hear. To ensure that not one sense was wasted in the desperation to commit every part of this experience to memory.

It was but a beat before Ed was rewarded with a series of little noises, moans and whines, and the digging in of fingernails. With a scurry, he whipped a hand behind himself to grab at Oswald’s arm, clumsily jammed those fingers into his mouth as he’d witnessed the Ed of this reality doing, May as well leap upon the opportunity to answer one question that today had presented. And he didn’t pick up the piquancy of rose, or lavender, but instead was met with the indentation of fingerprints grazing against his tongue. Fingerprints were unique. He could fathom the fascination with imprinting the texture against taste glands. Allowing his lip to glide over digits in an obscene motion, fingers lazily gliding in and out of the wetness of his mouth. Oswald bucked against him, each pump accompanied by a wheezing exhalation as he registered only the gesture that his erstwhile husband had been so fond of. An unconscious betrayal, but one that Ed could see his way to forgiving seeing as he’d been brought here to overwrite every clumsy touch and graze that that clod had lazily slapped over Oswald’s body with something far more passionate and far more tangible .

Oswald’s free leg slung itself over the back of Ed’s thigh. His searching hands traced at it, just to experience the pulse that beat within it. The leg would need to be fixed, of course. He supposed that it wouldn’t be too difficult to have someone drag this Oswald off somewhere and hold onto him, just long enough, so that he could ensure that the freshly broken leg wouldn’t set. To put things back as they should be. Although the initial breaking would need to be done with a practised precision, there were too many tiny variances in the splintering of bone for the clumsy assault in his initial timeline to be easily replicable. For now, he continued to grind at the quivering quadriceps still pinned under his groin, his depths pulsing with the anticipation of just what that leg could become. A groan in his throat was met by one of Oswald’s. 

His mouth succumbed as it was pulled into another all-consuming kiss. Oswald’s hands gripped tightly at the back of his head. His aching tongue pushed itself to continue to delve, to lick at palate and teeth, to miss nothing. He moaned into Oswald’s mouth, and Oswald moaned back into his. A thick noise, the merging of disparate tunes that came together to perform an exquisite symphony. Oswald arched beneath him, and his own body maneuvered to follow of its own volition. 

A beat, a gasp of breath as he was about to delve back in, and Oswald sighed “I love you.”

All the momentum that had been building halted, like a rubber band that’d stretched too far and hit him when it snapped. Oswald’s grip was just as tight, already intent on sucking Ed’s lip back into his mouth but he couldn’t make himself move. The seconds of pause and the verbal jumpstart snapped his focus back from the physical to the mental. 

“Ed?” Oswald asked after a second more, popping off his mouth. His lips were shiny with their intermingling saliva, his skin a mottled, blotchy red that spanned from the tips of his ears down past his clavicle, gracing the top of his chest. He hadn’t realized that his hand had ended up over Oswald’s heart. “I said I love you.”

He felt it, the way his heart skipped on the word, or perhaps it was simply exertion, but still, now he knew how it pulsed against his palm. He had to carry with him the knowledge of Oswald saying those words and meaning them, down to his very core. 

From the insistent look on his face, he knew he wanted Ed to say it back. He could say it, just spit out those three little words and they could keep going. “I—” To what end though? More air in his lungs meant more oxygen in his brain, easier to think. This was the path he’d decided on, wasn’t it? Come to this reality, take the other him’s place, fool this Oswald and steal his inheritance once he was tragically cut down. 

Stick to the plan. Say it. He just had to say it. “I…”

Confusion. Clear hurt. Oswald’s face twisted into an expression he was much more familiar with. “What’s wrong with you, Ed? Tell me you love me.”

Just lie! He was so adept at lying, well, perhaps when he could talk around it. Fancy wordplay could solve any conundrum. “I can’t be bought—”

“No riddles! Tell me you love me, right now!” Oswald had started to shake, the flushed pink turning an angry purple as the once-gentle hands at his back began to dig into his skin. “What’s wrong with you? If this is some game, I swear now is not the time—”

“I love-” Ed murmured. Quick. Think of something that he actually liked about Oswald. That was the only way around this. His mind furiously scrabbled at an infinitesimal  series of data points reviewing every moment since that rueful day that Oswald had first darkened his door. It would have been easy enough to have listed Oswald’s good qualities before the betrayal of course, back in the days when he was a gullible, easily-led fool. The answer would have been every one of his qualities. But it was clear now that even the gifts that the man had bestowed on him represented only a means of getting his hooks in. Even the sweetest memories had turned sour. There must be at least one thing that he could find however. He didn’t have this brilliant mind for no reason. “I love that you keep me sharp,” he offered, as his hand quivered in the press of sternums, drenched itself in sweaty wetness. “The stuff you’ve inspired me to do.”

Oswald deserved no credit for Ed’s cracking the secret of time travel of course, it was all Ed’s own work. Ed’s own ingenuity and genius. But the almost effortless way that Oswald sashayed through the world, crushing Ed’s dreams beneath his tread and twisting Ed’s mind until he was driven to nigh-on madness had been the catalyst that had driven him to make this decision. There was even something doleful about the indisputable fact that this escapade would most likely be his crowning achievement, and that its successful completion meant that it would never be celebrated by anyone other than himself. 

Oswald silently raised a brow, his eyes glimmering with bewilderment. Ed wedged himself up and found his thumb grazing over Oswald’s cheekbone, in a bid to steady or soothe him he supposed. The jut of bone skimmed quite elegantly against his touch, and there was another thing he could offer in lieu of the three words that his enemy actually wanted. “I love your musculoskeletal structure. It’s incredibly distinctive.”

Oswald emitted a puff of air, and began to prop himself up. “Ed. What in blazes are you talking abou-”

“I love that I’m here right now,” Ed rasped, launching, and pushing his face back into the messy swirl of saliva, the force of it slamming both against the pillow. Chins collided, the reverberation of an ache glowed in Ed’s jaw from the impact, but he could hardly pay that much mind. Not with the renewed ferocity of Oswald’s tongue piercing his mouth, the taste of Oswald’s breathy whines pouring down his throat or the layering together of outstretched arms leading to tentative strokes of fingers against fingers that snapped together in a vice-grip that a diamond drill couldn’t prise apart. 

“Then I take it that you’ll be staying?” Oswald gasped in an airy wisp of a voice. “Small mercies.”

A quip of course. Unless it wasn’t . That was something of a tantalising thought. Oswald was incredibly adept at bending language to his whims. Granted, it wasn’t exactly the same Oswald, he supposed. But the timeline intersection was such a brief period ago. It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he was trying to signal without signalling that he’d guessed the true nature of Ed’s appearance in his bedchamber. 

How devious! It wouldn’t do, of course. If he was going to permit this Oswald to stick around, and perhaps he could see his way to doing that, especially if this Oswald was so keen to lather such sensations on him with that enchanting mouth of his, then there would need to be some ground rules. Nothing too cumbersome, but he wouldn’t repeat past mistakes and let such seemingly innocent utterances simply pass him by. 

Oswald couldn’t dominate him in this timeline. He had very the power of time at his fingertips, and he needed Oswald to see that. To understand truly just how vigorously Ed had surpassed him. In order to prevent him from getting ideas in future. That was the best option.

Notes:

j- been getting rly into radiohead recently ://
rc - My favourite Radiohead song is 36 Degrees

Chapter 6

He dragged himself up to his knees, still clasped hands pulling Oswald up along with him.  His hands wafted along a smooth stomach, far too smooth, and his teeth pulled themselves into a grin. “Surprise number two, I think!”

“Ed,” Oswald murmured. “No more surprises.”

“Yes surprises! And not to worry about me vanishing. Because this time you’re coming along!”

Oswald huffed, looking hurt, but complied anyway. He straightened out his slipping robe and patted down his messy hair and crossed his arms impatiently as he waited for Ed to do the same. “This is shaping up to be the worst anniversary to date, and that’s counting the incident with the bees. So help me Edward, if you expect me to wait another hour—”

“A brief detour! Cross my heart — stick a needle in my eye if I’m lying.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Oswald grumbled, but tucked his hand into Ed’s offered elbow nonetheless. Once again it hit him that Oswald wasn’t holding him for support — his own legs handling the exertion with ease.  “Mind the glass!” Oswald yelped as Ed vigorously dragged him along, his eyes barely paying any mind to the tattered remains of that failed Ed’s attempts at a gesture . It only kindled a sense of victory within him. Oswald liked a gesture, did he? How did mastery of the very fabric of time sound? That had to beat out a silly wooden carving, quite easily . Foolish of that Ed to have entered into this contest with him, there was never any doubt as to who would prevail.

It wasn’t as though any iteration of Oswald would be thoughtful enough to miss one Ed when a clearly superior one was available. He had the expertise, he’d probably even call in his men to deal with the cleanup. 

They arrived at the smaller sitting room much more quickly than he calculated, used to factoring in the extra time needed to accommodate Oswald’s stagger-step. Oswald was layering him with questions and little remarks as he found himself breaking into a run, but he couldn’t pay attention to that. He had only the bristling excitement and completion of a task calling to him with its siren’s song.

The stench hit him before he creaked the door open a tad. The room was adorned by browning splatters, rather elegantly he thought. And the centrepiece was his own face. Not enough time had passed for the impact of algor mortis to be visible, though the process would be well underway by now. The other him’s skin would turn ghostly white, useless blood pooling at the base while the remaining enzymes merrily feasted away on the rotting interior. For what was perceptible, there was simply his shattered glasses, and the emptiness in the still opened eyes. He supposed that he ought to have closed them. But too late now, and besides he’d had a very busy day. He couldn’t be expected to think of everything.

Slamming the door shut again, he spun to loom in the doorway. He could see Oswald’s face snap to neutral where clearly he’d moments ago been squinting to see past where Ed was blocking his full view of the room. Oswald could do that without moving his head, could look without being perceived to have looked. Silly man. He ought to have known full well that Ed was going to see past such a trite ploy. 

“You love me, do you?” Ed said, unable to bite back the strain of cynicism that had burst its way to his voice as he sprawled himself in front of the view, felt his limbs become liquid until it felt as though the expanse of himself could drown the entire earth. His hand gripped at the doorknob, knuckles turning white with the force of his grip as his voice wildly oscillated in pitch. His body had started to shake without the conscious consent of his mind. “Really? ‘Til death us do part!? Beyond!? In every universe?”

“What’s the surprise, Ed?” Oswald snipped from behind a glower.

He needed to let go of this doorknob, but his palm refused to unclench. He needed to maintain his control of the situation, but he could feel it slipping. He needed to trick Oswald, but some stupid insistence had marched him into being about to tell him the truth, even though Oswald was the last person on earth who deserved it. “I’m a pyrite who has never seen a ship! Proverbially, I’m like clouds and wind without rain! I can be horsey, or I can-”

“A false gift,” Oswald cut in. No . That hadn’t been his intended meaning - why had he come out with that? Where had it come from, and why was Oswald so snappy with his response? 

“No!” he yelped. Following it up with a dismissive scoff. “It’s unlike you to be so stupid . What am I saying?” he accentuated with a press of fingers to his own brow. “Of course it’s not! I’m the stupid one for wasting my time on such an inferior intellect!”

That burst had come out more spiteful than he’d intended it, but Oswald stood firm. “You have never, ever spoken to me like that before.”

“Well maybe it’s high time someone did! Guess what Oswald! Sometimes things aren’t actually about you! Amazing, I know .”

Oswald pulled his robe tighter around himself. His tongue darted over his lip as an array of questions washed wordlessly over his face, and then he glanced up, a flash of something like defiance taking hold of his features. “Who was it that you killed? What have you done?” He slunk back, sucked in a deep breath. His jaw loosened, face becoming irritatingly soft, and he closed the gap. His hands clasped at Ed’s wrists, thumb kneading lightly against arteries, as though to assert his dominance over Ed’s very heartbeat. “Whatever it was, we can weather it. Tell me what happened.”

He had to beat back a jubilant hail of laughter. Perceptive to the last. He didn’t know if he wanted to crush Oswald, or gather him up in his arms, press him against the wall and take him right there in the corridor. He couldn’t help but note the faint tremor that rushed through Oswald’s body even as eye-contact remained firmly fixed, an attempt to assert that he was more confident than he was clearly feeling. Ed’s hands slid from Oswald’s so that he could be the one to be firmly gripping at his hands, and for reasons entirely unbeknownst to himself, he pressed the left to his own cheek. A razor-grin broke across his face, and he could hear the excitement running hot in his voice. “Close your eyes and we’ll find out together, won’t we?” he cooed.

Those eyes drifted for a brief second, before a huff rushed from Oswald’s nostrils as he furiously ripped his hand away. “Ed. You’re scaring me. Will you stop the nonsense, and simply tell me-” Then his eyes grew enchantingly wet, and he bunched a hand to his mouth. He spoke in a quieted whisper. “Please. No. My mother? My father?”

“What about-” Ed began to say, before it dawned on him. How funny! And with Oswald’s limited scope of understanding about the true complexities of the space-time continuum, it honestly wasn’t a terrible guess. Quite astute actually, it was just unfortunate that at this stage that there was so much context that he was missing out on. “Oswald. I didn’t kill your parents. I mean. As if I would.”

The rush of relief racing through the man was palpable. He wiped at his eyes, and immediately loosened up. He practically tumbled into Ed’s arms, fingers clawing cloyingly at his sides, nose burrowed against his clavicle. His head craned up, and he dotted Ed’s jaw with a series of pecks. “Forgive me, my love,” he choked in a gasping voice, fists clambering up to cup Ed’s jaw. “Forgive me. Of course you would not do such a thing. Of course! But you were behaving so strangely, and I was racking my mind for whose death might cause an imbalance, and - I am quite sleep deprived I think.” He broke off for a round of tittering laughter. “How the mind can play tricks on one!” His hands patted at Ed’s shoulders as he stepped back, a colossal breath zooming through his body. “What do you mean a false gift?”

Ed pulled him back close, lips lingering against his forehead, palm cupping the back of his head. Those lips pulled themselves into a smile. “It’s just really important to me that you see this.” That also hadn’t been what he’d intended to say. But Oswald sighed against him, his body draping itself to relax against his, and his own hands criss-crossed at his back to draw him in tighter. He inhaled sharply to breathe him in.

“Nerves only then,” Oswald uttered into his shoulder. “Honestly, Ed. What a silly fuss. Besides, you’ve utterly beguiled me with your broken glass and wine-soaked flowers already. There is simply no need for any further surprises.”

“But this is the surprise to end all surprises!” Ed beamed. “Honestly. There’s no way you’ll see this coming.”

“Very well,” Oswald sighed, the resignation in his voice palpable. “Delight me.”

Ed fumbled with the door, and swung it open, his sweeping hand beckoning Oswald to step inside. His entire being was fizzing, tingling with a delight bordering on hysteria, and he almost didn’t want to follow as Oswald bypassed him so that he could luxuriate in the sensation for a moment longer, then another. In a moment, Oswald would fall at his feet wracked by either awe or terror, and either way, what bliss!

It was taking him a while though.

Too long.

What was he doing?

With a grunt, Ed stepped into the room. 

Oswald was kneeling on the floor, hunched over the body Ed hadn’t gotten a chance to move. Ed could hear small, sharp gasps of his breath, harsh inhales as his small figure shook. He could just barely see how Oswald was tightly clutching the limp hand. 

“Who are you?”

There was an edge to his voice, cold and sudden, the question almost barked. How interesting, it seemed this Oswald had a brain in his head after all. Though, it did take him this long to figure out — the evidence laying at his feet.

“What are you talking about, Oswald?” The game was too fun to give up quite yet, and technically, he didn’t have to lie. “It's me, Ed.”

“You’re not my husband.” Honestly, why did he have to keep using that word? Like it was important, like it meant something, and wasn’t just some antiquated way to keep this Ed — dead Ed — tied to him? “You killed him. Didn’t you.”

His voice was flat and quiet, awfully similar to the sad, dead way he spoke when he first came to consciousness in Ed’s apartment. 

“Technically, he attacked me first, so more self-defense than murder.”

A hitched gasp of a sob filled the quiet room. Ed stepped in, crossing the barrier as he edged inside. Oswald was curling even farther forward, a series of nearly-unintelligible sounds spilling from him. It took Ed a moment to parse them together. 

“No, no no,” he mumbled as his shoulders shook. “I’ve got the best doctors on retain. You’ll be alright, dearest, keep looking at me.”

“He can’t see you,” Ed cut in. These pathetic waterworks were unbecoming, Oswald wouldn’t let himself sink so low. This one must’ve been coddled by this ‘happy family’ he’d nestled himself into — really, this would do him some good. He needed to be less vulnerable if he was going to survive in this business. “He’s passed on! Kaput! Close his eyes and I promise he won’t open them again.”

Louder sobs now. There were deep indents in the corpse’s hand where Oswald was clutching it so tightly. His vehement ‘no’s trailed off as he pressed wet kisses to its fingers and forehead, trailing down its cheek to the corner of its cooling mouth. Oswald looked like he was trying to bury himself into the body, becoming more and more frantic as it failed to hold him in return. 

Of course he’d pull something like this — it was just like Oswald to be so unnecessarily sentimental about what was, in essence, an object. A useless thing. Ed was standing right behind him, living and breathing and fully capable of using his non-limp limbs in whatever way Oswald pleased, but no, he was crying over an inanimate copy simply because he had a couple memories attached to it. 

“Honestly Oswald, this is embarrassing. You haven’t even asked how I got here! And let me tell you, it's quite a doozy so your attention really would be better directed—”

“I don’t care.”

Ed scoffed. “So you’re just going to keep making a fuss? Honestly, when one takes into account the full expanse of the spacetime continuum, then there’s really no reason to maintain an attachment to any one instance of—”

“I don’t care who you are or what you’re doing here or why you have my husband’s face.” His free hand was tucked on his far side, out of Ed’s sight, which experience had taught him to notice. He whipped around to face Ed, his cheeks wet with freshly shed tears and his face twisted into a furious snarl. “But I know that you killed him, tried to take his place, and was foolish enough to reveal this to me.”

Quick as a fired gun, Oswald lurched to his feet and began dashing towards him. He was swift enough with that leg of his slowing him down, but here he was closing in on Ed before he got the chance to sprint towards the open door. He felt himself tumble back, an iota before he was lodged against the wall, blade veering towards his throat. He felt time slow around him, even as he understood intellectually that such an effect was mere perception and that Oswald would be slamming him with the full force of his body.

“I’m real! Will you let me explain!?” he squeaked, mind flailing to grasp at anything that might slow the blade’s ascent, at least give him sufficient time to input the coordinates to beat an escape if necessary. Not that it was highly likely that it would be so, he could always weather Oswald’s tempers. And while the heated breath radiating at him blazed hotter than he’d ever felt it, and the anguish in the eyes was severe enough to reach out and choke him, he was fairly confident that it wouldn’t be too much of a struggle to beat that down to a nice, easy equilibrium. Fakes and shapeshifters did abound in Gotham City, and with Oswald’s tragically limited perception, it was highly likely that he’d simply mistaken Ed for one of those. “I can be caught but not thrown! I’m not a clock but I can be measured in hours. What am I?”

A seething rasp of breath, and he found the blade digging in tighter against his throat, the contact sending a jolt of genuine concern laced with a bafflingly heady warmth that stroked at his nerves and weakened his legs racing through him. The knife was bashed clumsily against cartilage. “And now you mean to insult him!? You oughtn’t have done that!” Ed’s face was peppered with flecks of spittle, fresh ones for each syllable Oswald emitted. He could feel the frenzy of Oswald’s pulse rocketing against him. He was beating back a swoon even as his pulse pounded with the possibility of incoming death.  “I had a mind to finish you quickly, but it’s clear to me that you deserve no such mercy.” 

He had to bite back a yelp as the metal jutted harder into his skin. Finally, Oswald was seeing reason. This was progress. This would give him time to clarify the situation. “Time! I am him! Everything about me, it’s all the same! I came here from a different timeline. Because there are numerous disparate different timelines, and I cracked the secret of crossing between them!”

“Still don’t care!” Oswald shrieked. 

How disappointing. How pedestrian. Oswald was so caught up in his mundane emotional attachment to one measly little Ed, that he was completely blinded to the possibilities that such a revelation ought to have inspired within him. Ed had to help him, of course. “Don’t you see? I can remake history, however I want, and you can be part of that. No one else has ever had that chance! This is the greatest opportunity that you’ll ever encounter! I’m inviting you into a world where you get to decide everything -”

“How very gracious. Mercy it is, then,” Oswald hissed, yanking the knife away. Ed breathed as Oswald stepped back, before it dawned on him what was about to happen next. The fist that was clutching the knife extended back as a colossal scream built in Oswald’s throat, and Ed’s fingers were furiously jabbing at the device on his wrist as the blade swooped haphazardly towards him.

An instant of almost-freefall, and he was once again shin-deep in woodland foliage. It was just before dusk, the exact same moment he left, everything around him in the same position it started in. The muggy air of the summer evening immediately hit his bare arms and legs. 

He patted his own chest, making sure he was still in one piece. No blood was blooming under his fingers, but his undershirt was torn. Oswald’s knife must’ve been a hair's breadth away from piercing right through the fabric, straight through his flesh and into his heart. 

Well, that certainly could’ve gone better. Note for the future, get Oswald warmed up to the idea beforehand. He’d admit that he’d gotten a tad impulsive, which considering this was basically a test flight, he couldn’t be blamed for. Up until that point, he thought his mission had been going rather smoothly, which proved that with just a little tweaking this plan was entirely without flaw. 

Drat. It seemed that his gun had gone missing during all the excitement, he’d have to procure another. He’d have to pick up where he left off tomorrow, besides he had a lot of… new ideas to consider. Nothing like a close call to get the mind rolling!

He glanced down once more at his creation, his genius little device that would allow him to rewrite and rewrite again, as many times as need be. Though, obviously this next one would be the ultimate success. As he twisted his wrist, the reflective golden glint on his finger caught his eye. 

Ah, it seemed he left with that wedding band still adorning his finger. He slipped it off and noticed an engraving he hadn’t seen before along the inner band. All it said was a simple ‘EC + OC’ followed by a date, listed five years ago to the day. 

Odd that he arrived precisely on their anniversary. That he’d inadvertently caused. Not that the actions of these doppelgangers in any way reflected or resembled actions that he himself would take, obviously. In fact, it was like they were entirely separate people with only the superficial similarity of a shared face. 

Though…he’d never had the occasion to celebrate an anniversary before. Seemed a bit unfair that a vastly inferior Ed got to experience a whole five of them. 

No matter. He’d rectify this injustice on his next go. Without another thought, he slipped the ring back on and began the short trek back to his car.

Notes:

j- did u know u can end fics with just nothing being learned. lmao
rc - Can't believe Oswald didn't even swap out his affections for the Ed who has a cool time machine when his own Ed has zero cool time machines. So unreasonable.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Ed’s Terrific Time Travel Tales