I don't own Misfits or Simon, I've just had fun playing in his head :)

Well, here it is. We've reached the end. See you at the bottom.



You once said to me, that the thing you wanted more than anything in the world, was to be someone else. The chance to step outside your own skin. An opportunity to do something different- be someone different, if just for a while.

I just wanted to let you know, that I think I've done that.

It's been seventeen days since I left the unit. Tomorrow marks the first day of my community service. In that time, I've attended a funeral, marathoned three of my favorite shows, watched the final remnants of my bruises fade away, gotten a haircut, bought a new wardrobe, and invested in a new phone. It's a lot of new things, a lot of new adjustments, but every one of them has came with their own sense of new accomplishment in doing things to better myself. To try and break away from those things that happened in the unit.

I don't know if you care to hear it, but I wanted to tell you just the same. When I went to Emma's funeral, I got to a chance to speak to her father and let him know that it was indeed an accident, what happened to her. I told him you were sorry. I told him I was sorry. He wasn't mad. He wasn't much of anything, really. I'm not even sure if he'll remember talking to me in the long run. But it was a nice service. There was an open casket and they'd braided her hair, and her make- up looked just like it did when she was alive. I thought I would cry, but I didn't. Not because I wasn't sad, but more because I knew it wasn't something she would want. I don't think she would want to see me go back to that state I was in before.

Everyone's been very supportive of me. Dad doesn't hover as much as he did in the beginning. He doesn't even get on me about taking my meds anymore. I made a video the other day and showed it to him, and he told me it was good. Told me he was proud of me. I don't think Ive ever heard him say it before. It made me smile. I've smiled more these days.

Last week, I let my mum and sister come clothes shopping with me, which probably wasn't the greatest idea as I don't think I've ever been dragged to so many different shops, but it was nice. In its own way. I got a lot of new clothes. I forgot, after how long I was in the unit, how nice it feels to have something to call mine. That I could find such a happiness in small things, like a new crisp button up shirt. Mum kept insisting I should get things a little less form fitting. I couldn't tell her that I find a certain comfort in the way the collars press against my throat. Figured it might scare her. I thought... it wouldn't frighten you. You would understand. The bruise is gone, but sometimes it's like I can still feel it there when I swallow, and I have to check really quick to make sure it really has disappeared forever. The shirts help me think about that less.

The barber cut my hair just the way I wanted, too. Leaving enough to cover the scar on my forehead. Rebecca says it's hardly noticable now, but it still makes me self conscious. Becca's constantly slapping my hand away when I go to smooth it down, says it makes me look a bit neurotic. And I don't think I could disagree. I still can be.

When sleep doesn't come become because I'll still sometimes dream about Matt and all those other things that happened, I'll find myself awake in the middle of the night making cups of tea and pacing the kitchen and Becca will wake up and find me like that. We'll sit down at the table and she'll ask me to talk to her, and it's a lot easier now- the talking. I don't feel so much now that my chest will explode with the hammering of my heart, or that I can't breathe. The panic attacks aren't so bad anymore. Not as severe, but still there.

They'll happen sometimes out of nowhere. I'll be doing something simple, like making my bed, and I'll recall all those patterened days in the unit doing the same thing, and it just happens. Or... try not to take this the wrong way, but sometimes I have them when I think about you. Not all the time. It's not like all the memories were bad ones, right?

There were the nice conversations out in the courtyard, and those nights in the rec room. Small moments, as unforgettable as the rest. But sometimes I'll just be sitting there in the living room watching the telly, and I'll think to myself... I'm out. I'm out of that place, I don't ever have to go back. Then I'll remember all those things that happened with us and I'll think about you and how you're still there... and all these feelings will come back.

I wonder how you're doing, Lucy, still there without me. If you're finally getting the help you really need. If you're getting better. If you ever miss me. If you think of me like I know I'll probably always think of you.

There are a lot of things I want to forget, but that I don't know if I ever will. Though, if I'm continuing being honest with you, as I know you'd probably want me to be, I will admit that I've tried. And sometimes it works. Sometimes I'll go whole days without remembering anything, I've gotten so good at pushing it into the farthest corners of my mind. I like to think that now, if someone were to ask me about my past, the unit wouldn't be the first thing that came to mind.

I don't want anyone to ask. I don't think that I'd ever be able to tell.

Where would one even start?

There are things that are mine, my memories, my afflictions. And while they don't pose the same threat that they once did, while they don't still carry that same weight, they are still a secret I want to hold tight to.

As I said at the beginning of this letter, tomorrow I start my community service. It's something different, something new, and I'll try and be someone new for it. So this is my final goodbye, Lucy. I'm sending you this letter and I guess it's my way of saying that... it's time to let go now. Of that place, and in turn you. Please know that it's done with good intention. I really do hope you get better, and so I think its for the best that we cut these ties for good and give ourselves that chance to finally be something new. Who knows, maybe we'll meet again someday, in a different time, in a different way, and it'll be okay there.

Take care of yourself,



Simon stares down at the piece of paper in his hands a few minutes longer, at each carefully written word, the fluent strokes of his letters, and the places where he'd scratched out certain things that didn't come out right, or he'd pressed the pen a little too hard, and he sighs. At the first clang of a metal locker on the other side of where he stands, he jumps and quickly shoves it back inside the envelope, taking a final look at the return to sender stamped across the front before setting it inside his own locker and closing it quietly.

Turning around, he smooths out the collar to his jumpsuit for the dozenth time since he arrived, pulling the corners of it down. It doesn't quite fit right he notices when he pulls his phone from his pocket, a bit too snug even for his own tastes. He figures he'll have to find someone to talk to about it, though he's not sure who that'll be just yet. He'd gotten here early, before everyone else, so he hasn't even had a chance to be introduced to anyone. For the most part he's been in the locker room by himself, going over a letter that didn't even get to its destination. He's still not sure how to feel about it.

With a final press down of his hair over the scar, he flips open his phone and checks his messages. There's a single text from his mum telling him that dinner will be done when he gets home, and to try and behave and not get into any trouble. He closes it with a small scowl and looks around. As if that's going to be an issue, he thinks. So far, it's been rather uneventful.

"Hey, any of you asbo shitheads got a light?"

He turns, startled, heart skipping an extra beat.

"Oh, never mind! Crisis averted, I found one nestled between me arse crack. Thanks for the help though, nice one."

It couldn't be, he thinks. It can't be. Not when... but... but he sounds like him! Same high Irish lilt, similar vocabulary. Just one look, he tells himself. Just one. And then it's back to not thinking about those things, back to not remembering. His steps are careful as he makes his way to the edge of the lockers, timid even. The last thing he wants is to be caught staring at anyone. The last thing he needs is to be labeled a creep, which is surely what anyone would think if they found him watching them without their knowledge.

Holding his breath, he slowly peeks around the corner, and his mouth falls open. They're there. It's them... but it's not them. His eyes go to the curly- haired one first, and there's no doubt in his mind that it's the person who asked for a light. Jack, his thoughts whisper. No, not Jack, but if he had a twin... this bloke would be it. The resemblance is almost scary, and he has to remind himself a few more times that he's not someone Simon knows, because the urge to walk over and strike up a conversation is so strong it almost frightens him.

The thought intensifies as his eyes flit to the girl standing in front of her locker, brushing her hair back. Sara, he thinks.

And then...

It's her nails that catch his attention first, bright pink. He stares at her hands as they slip on the jumpsuit, and he has to quickly look away before she starts pulling it up. A moment later he's glancing back in her direction, watching the way her curly hair bounces as she saunters towards the mirror, with the top of her jumpsuit open so he has enough of a full view to notice that her nails match her bra. His skin flushes as he watches her press her breasts up, turn and give herself a look in the mirror, and smile.

A smile that's so familiar it hurts.


"Outside," a voice calls into the locker room, just then, causing him to jump and bang against the locker. He hurriedly shuffles backwards as someone, another male of the group he'd gotten a brief look at, asks what the noise was. Before anyone has the chance to come looking, though, he's rushing from the locker room as fast as his legs will carry him.


"This is it. This is your chance to do something positive, give something back-"

Simon shuffles on his feet and continues to listen to the probation worker talk, stares straight ahead and tries to pretend he doesn't see the girl from the locker room that reminds him so much of Emma looking him up and down.

"There are people out there that think you're scum. You have an opportunity to show them they're wrong."

"Yeah, but what if they're right-"

Simon glances over at the curly- haired block that reminds him so much of Jack and bites back a smile as he jabs a thumb at one of the other guys of the group and makes a comment about some people being born criminals. He's trying to pay attention to that when another distraction comes about as a phone rings from the girl beside him. He glances from her to the probation worker and can see that he's starting to look annoyed.

"Boring as fuck," the girl says beside him.

Boring's the last thing he'd call this, he thinks, watching as the probation worker scolds her, she argues back, and the other guy jumps into it all, as well... something that only seems to make the probation worker further lose his temper. He's staring at this all with a mixture of confusion and slight anxiety when he looks over and sees curly hair is pointing a finger at him.

"You all right there, weird kid?"

He blinks, tightens his jaw, and quickly looks away. It's too familiar, the way he talks to him, the way he acts. He doesn't know how to process it at all. He can hardly even keep up as the girl beside him hangs up her phone and the Irish fella gets in the face of the other guy.

"I shouldn't be here, man," another guy says, the voice he recognizes from the locker room asking what the noise was.

He tries to focus on him and what he's saying, but he keeps getting distracted by the other small argument that keeps happening and the probation worker trying to keep the situation under the control.

When the other girl speaks for the first time, it's in an accent so close to Sara's a chill rolls down his spine. He tightens his fingers into his palm and watches as the others poke fun at her about it, and he really contemplates saying something to them about it, about leaving her alone, but decides it's best to not draw anymore attention to himself. Especially not with the way the curly- haired guy and the other one start fighting, pushing at one another as their voices grow in volume, and the probation worker having to rush forward and get in the middle of it.

He watches them grapple with one another and the others smile and the girl beside him start laughing and wonders how anyone could even think to call this boring. He doesn't even know where to start.


The probation worker made sure to take care of that part for him. After calling off their names, something Simon's thankful for as it gives him a chance to stop referring to them by reminders and characteristics, he'd handed them all a bucket of paint and a brush and set them out to paint benches. Simon's always been good at remembering names, he thinks, watching as one of the guys from earlier's scuffle- Gary, he now knows him as, snatches his hat off his head.

He cringes a bit when he jumps up with a curse and storms forward, kicking one of the buckets out of the way and scattering paint. He watches the way the girl that reminds him of Emma- Alisha- makes a small taunt and then laughs loudly as Gary kicks over a trolly and shoves it out of the way, stomping past it.

She's not as nice as Emma was, he thinks, turning back to his task with the shake of his head. He puts his focus into dipping the paintbrush and pulling it out, watching the paint drip back into the bucket before he starts adding another layer of white to the bench he's already partway through working on. He tries, but fails horribly at not getting caught up in hearing what's being said around him, the way the curly- haired bloke, Nathan, is talking to the girl that reminds him of Sara- Kelly- about what got them put in probation.

I won't say anything, he tells himself.

"What about you, weird kid?"

He glances over at Nathan and has to remind himself again that this isn't Jack he's dealing with as he adds, "No offense, but you look like a panty sniffer." At least Jack had the decency to learn his name- half... learn his name. And most of what Jack said was almost always immediately followed up with a smile that let him know that it was a joke. Nathan's been told his name, and he's still calling him weird kid. And now he's insulting him?

"I'm not a panty sniffer," he blurts out. "I'm not a pervert." He tries to go back to what he was doing until Nathan starts making obnoxious noises. He looks up and finds him imitating wanking with his paintbrush and walking towards him, and it comes out before he can stop it.

"I tried to burn someone's house down."

So much for not saying anything, he thinks as Nathan pulls a half amused face, followed up by a high- pitched "Fuuuu..." that he trails off on as Simon eyes dart back to the bench. For a brief moment, as the thought of how this day has already been terrible passes through his mind, and he realizes that this community service probably won't go anything like he expected it to as the isolated feeling starts sinking back in, he almost wishes he could go back to being invisible to people. Being ignored, or at least feeling like it, might be better than spending the next several weeks possibly being mistreated all the time by a new group of people.

"What is going on with this weather?"

Simon briefly looks up to the sky, at the clouds that strangely seem to have appeared almost out of nowhere. He's reaching for his phone in his pocket with thoughts of how cool it would be to get the storm on video when the probation worker comes over to where they're at.

"How do you screw that up?" He hears him say as he opens his phone. "You tell me because I've got no idea."

And that's when it happens. One minute the probation worker is staring them down and the next a giant chunk of something is slamming into the car behind him with a force so strong is smashes the entire top of it, setting off the alarm.

"What's going on?" Kelly calls out.

"That's my car," he says looking between his now ruined vehicle and them. Simon fumbles with his phone in his hand, rushing to press play right as the first sound of thunder cracks out and it starts raining. He turns just in time to catch the second piece of ice falling into the water behind Nathan, sending water everywhere.

"Okay, so I'm a little freaked out," he yells as the thunder booms around them again.

What is that," he hears Kelly say. He turns, phone held tight in his hand as he points it up to the sky and records more black clouds forming. He's never seen anything like it. This could be the best piece of footage he's ever taken. Then, through his screen, he watches as another piece of ice falls and he only just barely manages to scramble out of the way as it crashes inside the bin beside him, sending it catapulting over and throwing trash in his direction.

"All right, lets get everyone inside," the probation worker says above the noise, as if he'd have to tell Simon twice. He's already up the steps before anyone's even started moving, though they're quick to catch up. His phone is slick in his hands as they run, blocks of ice crashing down in every direction, smashing the phone booth as they rush past. Simon struggles to breath as his feet slap against the rain covered pavement, hardly able to focus between the sound of the storm raging around them and the shrieking and yells of the others. He's surprised they even manage to make it back to the community center in one piece.

Curtis all but crashes into the door, yanking on them as hard as he can. "It's locked," he screams at the probation worker who ends up knocking into him. "Open it!"

Simon turns quickly, hands shaking, and holds his phone up to continue filming as the others holler behind him. He needs to document this, something is telling him. It's important to get it all. Whether it be because of an extreme curiosity over the events, because nothing like this has ever happened to him in his life, or because there's some part of his brain telling him that he's probably going to end up dying... he keeps recording.

Even as as he makes out Kelly shouting behind him. And Curtis. Quickly followed by Alisha shrieking at the probation worker to just, "Open the fucking door!"

"DON'T speak to me like that," he yells back.

Simon looks away from his phone for the briefest of seconds, just long enough to try and tell the others to calm down, to... as Doctor Lewis would say, breathe. Everything was going to be okay.

And that's all it takes for the lightening to finally strike.


Last thoughts?

Thanks so much for those who've read and reviewed. Meant a lot to me. If you ever wondered where the chapter titles came from, they're lyrics from songs I listened to while writing this. You can find them on my profile.

Keep on the look out for anything else I put up if you want, I'm sure there'll be something!