Just a short little oneshot I wrote a while ago and just now decided to dig up. Whee.

Yes, it goes in circles, because Toby likes circles. And, no, I don't own Sweeney Todd.

Toby was fond of his straightjacket.

It was his, after all—just like his scarf. He'd lost that scarf; probably when he was first introduced to his special jacket. He'd lost his scarf, he'd lost his mind—but he still had the memories. Toby was certain he'd been in the straightjacket all along, from the day he met Mrs. Lovett. He'd been bound, helpless, allowed only watch without interfering. Mr. Todd, he'd put that straightjacket on, and Toby didn't realize that until he watched Mrs. Lovett take her last breaths beneath a mask of tears.

When Mr. Todd had taken the razor to Mrs. Lovett's throat, he'd cut Toby free from his special jacket. When it was replaced—a much thicker straightjacket, thick enough for Toby to know when it was there—it comforted him. When the straightjacket was there, it allowed Toby to believe that Mrs. Lovett was still alive, still there for him…even if only for a few moments. It was when he didn't have it that he started to remember again, and so the doctor's didn't release him from the jacket quite so much any more.

It was the gag that frightened him.

When Toby couldn't sing to himself, all that was left to do was think. With what few scraps were left of his sanity, his imagination ran wild. He imagined things he knew he shouldn't, and that's what hurt him so much when he left his special jacket.

His special jacket…all for him, just like his scarf…

"Now where'd that get to?" Toby mumbled to himself, his words muffled beneath his blood red gag.

All for him…