{trigger warning: murder, vomiting, panic attack}

Tyler left Dallon's office after they found what looked like the most credible unsub, taking a shortcut through a dog park to his apartment building. He couldn't drive yet because his legs weren't strong enough to press pedals yet.

The January weather was crisp and windy enough to warrant a scarf and gloves but warm enough for him to walk. The perfect sweater weather. He hadn't felt the wind on his cheeks since October.

Three months. 83 days, to be exact. 83 days stripped away from him forever.

It wasn't that he wasn't coping with being back into society again after three months of his only human interaction being a schizophrenic sociopath who tried convincing him torture would help him 'transcend the boundaries of the mind.'

Tyler adapted well in any situation, especially stressful ones. But the sunlight hurt his eyes too much, and every laugh from someone around him suddenly sounded oddly similar to Brendon's.

As he got closer to where he lived, the streets got louder, though he wished they hadn't. Even with all the noise, the only thing he could hear was that whispering in the back of his head, that same voice saying things Tyler could never unhear.

"4-7-8, Tyler," he mumbled, taking a deep breath in and holding it.

"That's not gonna work, Doctor," Brendon said teasingly. "Though it certainly couldn't hurt to try."

He let the air hiss through his teeth, slivers of it turning into fog. The hairs on his neck stood to attention as Tyler took a sharp turn into an alleyway, needing to get away from the noises of the city.

"We have some unexpected visitors, huh?" Brendon laughed, coming into view from the corner of Tyler's eye.

Tyler looked over his shoulder and saw a guy with his face concealed by a hoodie walking behind him, both hands in his pockets. When he turned back, he stopped, noticing another man in front of him. He felt for his phone in his coat pocket, finding nothing there. It must still be in Dallon's office.

"I don't want any trouble," he said, hearing the too-familiar click of a switchblade behind him.

"Then give us your wallet and we'll be on our merry way," the switchblade guy growled behind him. "And your watch."

Tyler protectively put his hand over his wrist, glaring. Josh got it for him when he proposed, there was no way he'd let it go to some thugs in an alley. "The wallet, nothing else."

Brendon whistled, stepping forward and walking around the guy in front of Tyler. "He's not that tough looking. You could take him down easily."

"The wallet and the watch..." the blade pressed into Tyler's slime, sending a rush of adrenaline through him. "Or I'll turn you into a shish kebab."

"You first," Brendon whispered in his ear.

For a moment, everything went silent, the noise being sucked out of the air like liquid through a straw. Tyler took a deep breath. Time seemed to slow down around, and a smile crept across his face. "You first."

Tyler spun, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it back so the knife fell out of his hand and into Tyler's. His cane clattered to the ground. The blade slid easily into his gut, and was even easier to pull out as Tyler stabbed him again.

Surprise bloomed in his face before the thug fell to his knees, bloody hands hovering over the stab wound. A feeling of elation filled him, and for some reason Tyler wanted to keep stabbing the man who'd fallen backwards into the ground.

"Yo, what the fuck dude!" The other screamed.

An arm wrapped around Tyler's neck, cutting off his air and probably leaving a nasty bruise. The man got a hold of the knife for a moment, but Tyler managed to hold on. He flipped it in his hand so the blade was backwards and stabbed the guy in the thigh. When he let go, Tyler turned and slashed his throat open, blooding spraying his cheeks.

The man made a gargling sound as blood dripped from his mouth, clutching his throat, before collapsing as well. Tyler glanced down at the knife in his gloved hand, a mix of horror and serenity taking over. He dropped the blade, looking around desperately to make sure no one saw.

Slowly, he picked up his cane, limping his way back to his apartment. He didn't take the stairs. His body couldn't take the physical exertion. In the coppery surface of the elevator's inside, he saw Brendon's reflection, smiling satisfactorily.

"Oh, god," Tyler groaned, bile rising in the back of his throat.

His hand slipped on the doorknob, leaving a bloody print behind. Tyler's hands shook as he jammed the key into the lock, fumbling to open it. He barely made it through his front door before his knees buckled, and he threw up in his trash can that he kept in the entrance of his kitchen.

His whole body with the anxious thoughts coursing through his mind. He just killed two men. Why did he do that? Why did he run? Did he like it? Where did Brendon go?

"Peekaboo."

"Oh, Jesus fucking-" Tyler pushed the trash can away. "My- my name is Tyler Robert Joseph. My birthday is December 1st, 1995. My boyfriend- no, my fiancé's name is Joshua William Dun. His birthday is June 16th, 1991. Wait, no- his birthday is the 18th. Why did I say the 16th?"

"I think the more important question is, why do you remember now?" Brendon said.

Tyler managed to stand, his legs wobbling. He peeled off his bloody gloves, tossing them in the trash can. "We- we've been together for two years. Our anniversary is November 1st. I missed it."

"Wonder why."

He ignored Brendon, stumbling to the bathroom and turning the shower on. Tyler stripped his clothes off, the fabric clinging where the blood had dried, and stepped into the boiling hot water pouring from he shower head.

His muscles relaxed with the water, and his head cleared enough for panic to set in, but Brendon didn't leave. He sat outside of the shower, humming.

"You enjoyed it. Killing them," he said.

Tyler grabbed a bar of soap and started scrubbing, desperately trying to get the dried blood off. He scratched at his skin until it nearly bled, feeling flecks of the blood come off under his fingers.

"June 18th, June 18th..."

"If you're not going to say it, I will." Brendon's face appeared pressed against the foggy glass of the shower door. "Killing helps you remember."

"No, no, this was a mistake. I- I have the turn myself in," Tyler mumbled to himself, stepping out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and froze as he opened the bathroom door, hearing another door creak.

"Joseph?" Dallon called out.

Tyler, in a fit of panic, slammed the door, grabbing his clothes and throwing them in the bathroom closet. Just as he closed the closet, Dallon burst through the door, gun raised.

He let it drop when he saw Tyler, sighing with relief. "Sorry, I just came to drop your phone off and I saw blood on the door handle."

"Oh, right. I... I got a nosebleed on my way back," Tyler lied. "It was a lot, so I showered."

Dallon put his gun into its holster. Tyler never really understood why he carried a weapon when he was a technical analyst and not an actual agent, but there was no such thing as too prepared.

"You feeling okay?" Dallon asked.

Tyler nodded, though Brendon rolled his eyes beside him. "Never felt better."

"I'm sure you have," he joked.

"Kill him," Brendon said. "Look at him, he's so vulnerable."

Tyler ignored him and walked Dallon back to his front door. The trash can lay undisturbed in the corner. He smiled stiffly, and Dallon returned it, though concern was written over his face.

"I'm fine, Dal. Really. I'm just... tired," Tyler laughed slightly. "That walk did a number on me."

"Whenever you need, just call me and I can drive you, okay?" Dallon handed him his phone.

Tyler nodded, his hands shaking. "Thanks. I'll have to take you up on that."

Dallon left, and Tyler locked the door, sliding the deadbolt into place. He looked at his hand, saw blood stains, and sank to the floor, a sob clawing its way up his throat.