A/N: Please review and I will update within the next two days
There was a small moment that was similar to that at the door of the nursery upon first glancing into the room; I was silent, unable to formulate a response in the depths of my mind that would do anything other than further my predicament but rather than improve its condition as I would have liked, but it was not as if this was something I'd encountered before and should have been prepared to rebuke. What, in reality, can be said after obtaining the knowledge that you've been stuffed into a diaper and baby clothes and stuck in a crib by the person you've come to know as your trouble-maker, the person who strives to cause angst in your otherwise peaceful life? But perhaps more to the point, what brain is so advanced that it can prepare a rebuttal to something of such monumental proportions? How does a brain even go about dissecting this information into pieces that can be more easily comprehended? These questions, and others, had now mounted the landscape of my mind which served as the battleground for all warring emotions on their horses and were now throwing blows in hopes of rising to the front of my mind; the thought-group which had fixated on the what-ifs of my capture were deemed irrelevant, of course, but the thoughts of escape—once weakest of the bunch, now weaker—were now battling these newcomers with that same limitation my disregard for them had brought upon. Easily to defeat them however was another survivor, one stronger, this one pouring itself over the question of why? and very intent on receiving an answer, so much so that these new thoughts—those concerned almost childishly with formulating a "cool" response to throw back at Vlad and wondering how the mind might go about doing so—stood little chance against its power and were, too, overtaken with similar ease.
Shaky, the timid man who had once lived somewhere in the regions of my brain, had gone silent, and I'd come to believe that the shock of this revelation and everything it would instill had simply caused the guy's weak heart to give out and to slip away while I'd been drifting in sweet unconsciousness. Rational, on the other hand, was absolutely ecstatic—of course, there was no part of me that liked the idea of Vlad Masters undressing me while I slept and redressing me in baby clothing, but the R man could not have craved the thrill of change more, and he would take what he could get, it seemed. In my mind, I could feel the little guy jumping up and down at the idea that our time would not be consumed with some terribly uninteresting fight but rather a kinky session of roll-playing…or whatever the hell he intended to do now that he had me where he wanted me, because as I said, that why? had won my attention—sadly, because I would have rather focused my energies into solving a book of math problems than allow myself to fixate on this rather unpleasant inquiry and all it implied—and god knew I was allowing it to consume me. And vaguely, I had the idea that Rational and the why? had combined their efforts to destroy their competition and explore the possibilities of Vlad's actions together in unending bliss.
And along with these things which had survived the battle on the gummy landscape of my brain, there was something else, something which had timidly watched and had not participated for it was never anything other than a given; the fact that I had to reply—it was not concerned with how I might go about doing so or struggling to piece together information that would allow for such a thing—would never leave my mind, no matter how the other emotions around it, stronger and smarter they may be, crippled it with blows…and so they didn't, because they knew there was no point, only energy wasted. And so with Mr. Rational observing with a bowl of buttered popcorn in his hands and the question of why? now burning strongly in my center of my forehead, need would also ascend to victory with it and beat on my temple with its hammer, one which served like an alarm clock, until I addressed it.
And I did, because I could not handle the pounding that lay behind my eyes, one which possessed a pain that was nothing like I've felt before in the entirety of my life (all while feeling very alarmed at the control these rather hastily composed emotions had developed over my brain, mind you), and though I recognized the weakness I must hold in doing so, I could not have been more relieved to remove that pressure from my undeserving temple. And because I was appeasing this desire without much regard for my own well-being, simply to alleviate my headache, I did not consider my words closely before they slipped out of my mouth—this thought had been knocked out, of course, and now lay in shambles on the battlefield of my mind—and I said the first thing that came to mind and sounded remotely good but could have been twice as effective if I'd taken a minute—"A-are we roll-playing?" My voice was notably weak, and the words were not easily formed.
Vlad smiled softly down at me and chuckled slightly, and as he reached down to ruffle my hair that indulgence I'd seen shining in his eyes since I'd arrived, really, brightened to that of a flare, so much so that it seemed to repel his eyebrows, which shot up slightly momentarily. If I hadn't been fixating upon the state of his eyes like the stages of the moon, I might have bothered to dodge his blocky hands, but I suppose it became very reassuring—or slightly, because it only raised more questions, or warriors—when I saw how soft his touch was.
"I suppose we are, kit. Although I am afraid I will have to deny you any sexual pleasure if that's what you're looking for," he said, and his voice possessed the same indulgent quality as his eyes—like something tasting the way it smells.
Because need was still tapping, I murmured distantly, "No."
"Good," he said, and began to fiddle with the lock on the side of the crib. "That will never be my purpose, Daniel. And roll-playing is a much too informal term, because for the next three months you are going to be my kit, and if you act anything other than the baby you are, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?"
Unfortunately, it seemed that Mr. Rational was still not satisfied with our performance, because suddenly I found myself murmuring in acute disbelief, as if simply trying to stir things up a bit, "You're fucking crazy."
However, his face did not suddenly twist in anger or his hands shoot out with the intent of strangling me to death, and I thought I'd been spared in my helpless state…but behind those smiling eyes there was an underlying hatred that was unmistakable, a maliciousness that would define the bulk of my time in his care, and gazing into those crystalline pools sent tight shivers up my spine, and understandably so.
"Well, Daniel," he said levelheadedly, his smile now appearing to be very unnatural, forced—in fact, I saw the corners twitching as if he were struggling to retain this pose his lips had adapted. "If I'm fucking crazy, then you're fucking dead."
I was lucky there was a teddy bear in the crib with me—I desperately needed something to clutch onto for comfort.