A/N: Well, it's about fucking time if I do say so myself. Explanation for hiatus is on my profile.

VideoSpud – Nah, Andrew has this thing where he holds grudges for literally forever. He's such an asshole but he's a justified asshole and I love it. He just doesn't do things the way they're supposed to be done. Interestingly enough, I noticed that too, about Matt starting to say something. Hmm. I haven't watched the uncut version yet (no BluRay player :/) but I do know that whatever it is, it's not alien in nature. Max confirmed that on Twitter. God, it's so interesting to think of everything though.

Pia-Belette – Awh, you are too adorable. Personally I think Andrew's pretty bored up there in space too. :( I mean, there's not a lot for him to do, really. And he's probably a little pissed off that everyone he loves except for Matt is dead, even if he was the cause for some of them. D:

Kasume-sama – Matt and Andrew's bromance is the only kind of bromance, okay. They are the textbook definition of the ultimate bromance.

Charlie – Haha, thanks. It does make sense to me. Like, if Max had continued the story and changed it a little bit. I have to say it's quite the honor to hear that I can write like Max (if that makes sense, which I don't think it does lol), he's such a talented writer and I love him a lot. D: It's easy for me to write Andrew in-character because I was brought up a lot like him, with abuse issues and neglect and my mom acting exactly like Richard did in the hospital. (My friends doubted it when I said Richard didn't really feel sorry, then were surprised when I was right. The sad thing is that I only knew it because my mom acts the same way.) Matt's a little tougher but I use the info from some of my friends to try and shape his personality exactly right. :)

Juneisamonth18 – Well…I hope this is soon enough. D:

ForeverDreaming – Glad you left a review anyway, hon. It means a lot. :)

By the way, they lived in Portland in the original script. You'll see why that's information I included shortly. Also, read my other Chronicle stuff…a Hunger Games crossover and a bunch of oneshots. :) There's a few more multi-chapters I have planned also.

"The strongest earthquake ever recorded shook the planet yesterday for a split second, causing multi-car pileups and many major injuries. In other news, the search is still on for Matt Garetty and Andrew Detmer, who have been identified as the two teenagers terrorizing the city of Seattle three days ago. There is still no comment from the government on the supposedly psychic abilities the two displayed during their confrontation, and the police force refuses to give any speculation on the matter…"

"It's totally a government thing."

"Hm?" Matt slid his eyes off the TV and let them fall onto the bartender, a blonde girl with a miniskirt about two inches away from showing her panties and too much lipgloss for Matt's taste. She was pretty, though, and he kept his tone light and friendly. He'd heard the way the other guys, sitting a few seats away, spoke to her, and he was not going to turn into one of them.

"Those psychic kids," she repeated, not looking at the TV. She didn't need to. It was almost the only story on any channel on television. "They've got to be a government experiment. I mean, how else, right?"

"If it was a government thing, they'd pull it, I think," said Matt.

He watched the constant loops of the videos from the news cameras and the cameras used by tourists too far away for Andrew to want to steal. He understood why the cashier at CVS hadn't recognized him. The cameras were too far away to get a very good look at either of them that night. Andrew's picture was always flashing on-screen in between loop cycles, but the news teams announced they had no photographic evidence of Matt.

I took care of it, Andrew had told Matt when his cousin had started panicking the first time he'd seen Andrew's photo onscreen, figuring his would be next.

"Are you sure?! Because I'm freaking the fuck out, dude–"

Relaaaaaaaax. Don't you trust me? Jeeze.

He'd watched the TV screen, disbelieving, when it was revealed that we have no photographic reference for Matthew Garetty, unfortunately, all photos have been mysteriously destroyed, including online photos, which now display only an error code, and all photos in yearbooks, newspapers, etc. – and that was when Matt realized exactly how powerful Andrew was. How far his powers extended. He was honestly lucky that Seneca had recognized him, considering that she probably would have called the cops on him straightaway otherwise.

"Why didn't you destroy yours, too?" he'd asked.

Andrew had laughed like sandpaper, harsh and rough. Who cares if they know what I look like? I'm, like, not even on Earth, Matt. They can't find me.

Matt had made some kind of comment regarding Andrew acting like Matt was his southern housewife because of how Andrew was protecting him, and he could hear Andrew smile a little and make that amused sound like he was thinking about laughing but decided not to. It was good enough, though, Andrew was satisfied with his fate and that was all Matt had ever asked.

The blonde behind the counter nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, you're probably right. I wonder what it was, then. How it happened. It can't have been planned. Everyone's freaking out too much. So it's not a movie or anything. They would have closed off that part of the city." She slid the vodka glass across the counter to Matt and looked back up at the television. Matt downed the vodka, telekinetically shutting off the nerves in his throat for a split second so it didn't burn on the way down, and watched with her. The loop playing right now was of he and Andrew right before the spear incident. He couldn't believe how bloody Andrew was. How his bandages were soaked through with crimson stains, all up his arms and down his legs and the bandages stopped at his ankles and his feet were torn up and bloodied too. Matt inconspicuously peeked at his palm. It was good as new, not a trace he'd ever been shot. He wondered if it was the same deal with Andrew. He hoped so. He wouldn't want Andrew to have to deal with that pain.

"So where ya from?" the bartender asked him, pouring another vodka shot.

Matt said the first thing that popped into his head. "Portland."

"Wow. Far."

"I like to travel." He had no choice, but he didn't tell her that. He swallowed the Absolut, numbing the nerves again, and grinned when the girl looked at him with wide eyes, surprised someone so young could do vodka shots that easily. The fake ID he had said he was twenty-two, so she'd be really surprised if she knew he was only eighteen. "What's your name?"

"I'm Brenda. How about you, cutie?"

"David." He hoped he looked like a David.

"Well, Mister David, you hold your liquor better than anyone I've ever seen your age. I must say I'm impressed." She raised her eyebrows, one corner of her mouth lifting. "And that's not all that impresses me."

Matt swallowed. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out what she meant. Yeah, she was hot, but he wasn't even thinking about any kind of romance with anyone right now. He had way too much to worry about, and he was trying not to drag anyone else into his drama. No one deserved a life like this.

"I'm gay," he said. It was the only thing he could think of on such short notice.

Andrew cracked up. Matt had to remind himself that no one could hear the hysterical laughter. It was really uncomfortable to not see anyone reacting to it.

The bartender attempted to hit on him several more times before Matt got up and left the bar. He floated some of the money from the wallet of one of the rude catcalling dirtbags on the side when no one was looking and left it on the counter to pay for the alcohol. He made sure to leave a big tip.

Matt dreamed of Seneca.

She was there in front of him when he slipped into unconsciousness. The two of them were sitting in a wheat field with the stalks almost reaching up over their heads. Seneca was watching him, almost waiting for him to make a move. He got the feeling that she was judging him, holding him accountable, which he couldn't say he disagreed with her for. She was his first completely innocent, conscious kill. She wasn't like that little girl. She could have had a life.

"I was wrong," he said. He wanted to make sure that she knew that he knew.

The dream was so vivid. He could swear it was really happening.

Seneca let her dark hair be picked up by the wind and blown across her face. Her hands were folded in her lap.

"I know," she told him. "I understand."

"Do you forgive me?"

Seneca lifted one shoulder. "It's not always going to be as easy as I'm making it. You can't go on like this, Matthew. You can't be a killer."

Matt was silent. He didn't want to be. But more and more he was finding that it was more humane than letting them run to the government and then having them be interrogated for stuff they didn't know.

"I can't help it," he said pathetically.

Seneca's face darkened. Her eyes turned the color of the citrine. "You are a monster."

A metal pipe rammed against the side of Seneca's skull, the impact so hard that the pipe rang. She fell to the side, her eyes rolling up into her head, and Matt could see blood splatters on the wheat stalks and on the ground below. He was concerned that there was no real sense of loss when it happened. It felt more like it was just a thing that was supposed to happen instead of first-degree murder.

He looked up at Seneca's murderer.

"Andrew," he sighed. He was so relieved. He hadn't dreamed about Andrew for a while.

Andrew let the pipe fall to the ground. "Insect," he hissed at Seneca's corpse. Then, to Matt, "Hey."

Matt stood up and wrapped his arms around Andrew. It felt so real. So genuine. Andrew was still wearing the hospital nightgown and his bandages were still soaked through with blood. He could feel the stickiness of it and hear the shaky breaths Andrew was taking. He could feel so clearly the way Andrew's arms slowly circled around him as well, like his cousin had forgotten how to hug. (How many people had he hugged before? Matt could count on one hand the times he'd seen Andrew hug someone.)

"I see Steve sometimes," said Andrew. His voice trembled with the crumbling of his fake confidence. It hurt him, to talk about Steve. "He tells me that you're not, you know." He sniffed to keep back the wavering in his voice, which didn't work. "Mad at me."

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"For the stuff I did. For the people I killed."

Matt held Andrew tight. "I'm not mad. I promise."

"But, like, you should be mad. Because I'm a murderer."

"You're not a murderer, Andrew. You got angry and confused and you were hurt." He put his hands on Andrew's shoulders and moved so that they were at arms' length. Andrew's electric blue eyes were wet. He looked like he was going to burst into tears any minute. And Matt wondered how anyone could have ever thought of Andrew Detmer as anything more dangerous than a lost and alone teenage kid.

"You were hurt," he repeated.