Author's Notes: This is the epilogue to both Insane and Judas. It's a happy ending, if you can believe that. Well, as happy as you'll get from me.

Endgame

I walk in the bright room slowly, with soft deliberate steps. I do not want to startle him. I do not want to frighten him. The doctors said that at times he retreats into himself and that he is silent and still, while at other times the slightest touch or noise will send him into a desperate panic. I take a deep breath to calm the nervousness that I feel must emanate from me in waves.

I do not want him to know that I am nervous or uncertain. I want to appear strong for him as he has been for me, so many different times in so many different ways. Despite all my resolve, I still feel tears spring unbidden to my eyes as I see him for the first time in three months. He looks so fragile, so small, so pale that for a brief moment I wonder if this is truly my best friend. Maybe the doctors have made a mistake. Maybe they have directed me to the wrong room. Surely this damaged man in front of me is not Chris. I take another small step forward and I see that his eyes are focusing on me. He lies flat on his back, the back of his head nestled against the ivory pillow under him and the only part of him that moves are his eyes. A black wave of sadness threatens to suffocate me from watching this movement. I have never seen my friend so still. So unmoving. Not even after the first time that Neil took him.

More tears come to my eyes.

I move until I have covered the distance between us and I sit down at the chair placed so conveniently next to his bedside. As I gaze into his brown eyes, usually so alive and alert, now dull and listless, I can almost feel my earlier fantasy rupturing. This is Chris. There is no denying that the man that lies here is my best friend, my brother, the man that I would gladly give my life for. A small sob escapes my throat as a nasty, bitter thought inserts itself into my head – this is the man that I could not save. I could not help him. I could not save him.

I take his hand in both of mine and find that it is cold. He continues to stare at me as if he were staring through me, as if I were invisible.

"Chris?" I whisper. "It’s me. It’s Justin."

Now he turns his head slightly, his dark eyes blinking. His mouth moves as if to speak, but no sound comes from it.

"Chris, do you know who I am?" I ask. The doctors have instructed me to say his name as often as possible, they say this will help him. They say that he has problems with his name. With his identity.

Again the slight turn of the head. Again he blinks his eyes. This time however, when his mouth moves, he speaks. His voice is scratchy and weak and all he manages is one word, yet the word brings a smile to my face.

"Justin?"

It is my name. He has said my name.

I look down at his bruised face as I answer. "That’s right Chris. It’s me. It’s Justin. I’m here now."

He says nothing. To fill the silence I continue to speak. The doctors have said that speaking to him in soft, slow tones will help also.

"I’m here with you and I’m going to be here every step of the way. Consider me your shadow because I’m not leaving your side until you’re all right."

I do not expect him to answer, and I am startled when he does. "Never," he says.

"Never what?" I ask. My left hand releases his hand and begins to stroke his dark hair. I can only hope that he will find the touch soothing. As I do this I try desperately to ignore the various cruel wounds on his upper chest and neck.

He does not react to the touch. "Never be all right. Never be safe," he whispers in complete certainty.

"Yes you will Chris. He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s dead. He will never hurt you again."

His eyes widen and he looks at me in a mad cross between wonderment, suspicion and fear. "I don’t think he’s dead. He comes to me…in my dreams. He’s always here."

I shake my head vehemently. "No, Chris. You killed him. You were stronger than he was and you killed him. He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore. He holds no power over you."

Chris looks down the length of his body and I feel as if I can read his thoughts. He is thinking about his useless legs. The legs that will no longer be able to support him while he dances, while he runs, while he walks are a constant reminder of Neil. They are a reminder that no matter how much his body physically heals or how much his soul heals, Neil will always have power over him.

For a brief flash, I wonder if he relives it at night. I wonder if he can still feel the cold blade cutting into his flesh, if it seems real to him still.

His eyes shift towards my face. He is weeping so softly that I can barely hear his sobs. "Is that my name? Am I Chris?" he asks.

"Yes, you’re Chris. You’re Christopher Kirkpatrick, one of the strongest, bravest men I know and I am so honored to have you be my friend."

He continues to weep, as do I. My tears have never completely stopped, but now they are a waterfall, pouring out me, raging out of me.

"I want to be Chris. I don’t want to be his anymore. I don’t want to feel him anymore, Justin. He’s always here, he’s always on me, inside me… can you make him go away?" The pleading in his voice tears at my heart. He sounds like a small child; like a small, lost child.

"We’re going to make him go away, Chris. You and me together. You, me, your family, Lance, Joey, JC…all of us. We’re all going to make him go away."

"Promise?" he asks as his voice trembles. His body trembles as well, and suddenly I feel the need to hold this man, to not only tell him that he will be all right, but to SHOW him as well.

"Can I hug you Chris? Can I touch you?" I ask tentatively. I hold my breath for his answer. He could very well tell me no and I would accept that. Everything revolves around him now, everything revolves around giving him control of his own body. The doctors have told me that as well.

I wait.

He hesitates while crystal tears fall from his eyes and race down his face. As they pass over his bruises, the blue and purple marks appear to glisten. He looks, I think sadly, like an angel thrown cruelly from heaven, discarded and used.

I wait.

Finally he nods. He has given me permission to touch. I move to sit on the bed and take him into my arms. I can feel his body shaking, his sobs now harsh against my shoulder, as he cries out his pain.

"Sshhh…it’s ok. It’s all right now," I whisper as I rock him back and forth in my arms.

"Justin…" he says and that is all he says before his tears overtake him again.

"Yes, I’m here Chris. I’m here with you. You’re safe now. You’re safe."

He continues to cry and I continue to hold him as a mother would hold her hurt child. And it is at this moment that I make my vow. It is a silent vow, no one hears it as it echoes in my thoughts. No one will know that I have made it but me. I vow to protect this man, to help him and to care for him until he is healthy and whole.

This is what I promise you Chris. I promise that I will heal you, that I will help you heal yourself.

I still rock him and whisper soothing words to him. He still weeps and trembles and hangs on to me as if I were his lifeline. But despite my tears and my own sobs, I manage a smile. Because I know, even if no one else does yet…I know that Chris will be fine.