Archive of Our Own

It took Oswald a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. True, it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust in the dark of the dingy, abandoned theater after walking in from the bright sunlight outside, but the quiet whimpering that came from the other side of the room should have tipped him off.

Once his eyes adjusted to the shadows, Oswald could see the other man, at least he assumed it was a man, was tied to a chair in the middle of the tiny stage at the front of the theater, a tan sack covering his head and duct tape wrapped the bottom to keep in securely in place. The man didn’t move or speak, just wept quietly as if he had been there a while and had given up on anyone coming for him. Oswald could relate to such feelings of hopelessness, he himself had been in similar situations before (however, he usually ended up knocked out or badly beaten because he just couldn’t keep his smart mouth shut in said situations). Still, Oswald refused to let himself feel any sympathy towards this stranger, and he was in no hurry to come to his aid, it could be a trap after all.

Instead Oswald continued to examine the theater space from the door he had entered from. Obviously not used for decades and overdue for demolition, it was tiny, smelled of mildew and possible feces (human or rodent, Oswald didn’t want to think about it too much). The only light came from cracks in the roof, and it was precious little at that. He didn’t like it, there were too many shadowy corners and doorways for enemies to pop out from. But he was already here, there was no turning back.

Let’s just get this over with, Oswald thought to himself. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his cane, and took a step down the aisleway that cut through the rows of decrepit seats.

“Ed!” He called out to the shadows. “Come out from hiding. I’m here.”

And with that a high laugh cut through the air from some place backstage, and a shiver shot down Oswald’s spine just as fast. The tied-up man on stage jumped at the sound, but didn’t attempt to say anything, though his whimpers raised an octave.

“Bravo!” Ed’s muffled voice shouted back from somewhere behind the rotting curtains, though the man himself still did not appear. “You solved my riddle much faster than I thought you would! I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Yes, yes, bird’s shadow,” Oswald yelled in reply, “So clever.” He was halfway to the stage and decided to stop there. Though he had his blade in the handle of his cane and a handgun stashed safely inside his jacket should Ed have anything sinister planned, it would be good to have a head start at an escape if he needed to.

Earlier that day Oswald received a green envelope with a card inside, and in familiar handwriting was written “The part of the bird that is not in the sky, that can swim in the ocean and still remain dry” followed by “I have a gift,” and that was it. He didn’t know what to make of it in all honestly, whether it was a peace offering or a trick, but Oswald couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

It did not take Oswald long to figure out the riddle’s answer, “a bird’s shadow,” which led him to this condemned theater, formerly called “The Shadow,” on Bird Street. The ordeal had taken him the better part of the day, so Oswald wasn’t sure if he should be happy he beat Ed’s expectations, or mad that Ed thought it would take him longer.

“You must forgive the darkness,” Ed’s voice rang out, though it had moved to someplace else in the shadows. “I still have a couple things to put together and then-“

Suddenly lights filled the theater space, blinding Oswald. He let out a painful hiss, dropping his cane to shield his eyes with one hand and reaching for his gun with the other. But after the initial startle it became clear that simply the lights on the stage had come to life, illuminating the captive man taking center under the spotlights, and a gaudy green question mark glittering behind him.

“Always with the theatrics” Oswald muttered to himself with a scowl. Really, had Edward always been this dramatic? It seemed the more time went on, the worse his one-time friend became with his need to cause a scene. Oswald would find it comical if at that moment it didn’t set him on edge.

Still, he took a deep breath, smoothed his hands down the front of his fur lined jacket, and awkwardly tried to bend down to pick up his cane.

“Is this really necessary?” Oswald called out, trying to keep the hiss out of his voice from bending his bad leg. “Hmm, Ed?” He emphasized the name, knowing it would speed up whatever Edward was planning.

“Ed’s not here right now,” was his answer, coming from the far side of the stage. “It’s just- The Riddler!”

The curtains on the side dramatically flared open just as more lights came to life to shine down on Ed, standing in a dramatic pose; one arm in the air, the other holding his hat titled low over his face, dressed head to toe in green.

“Hmm, sure. Fine.” Oswald straightened and leaned on his retrieved cane, trying to keep his expression bored. But inside his heart was suddenly pounding, and he tried to tell himself it was from the potential danger he was in. Yet he knew that wasn’t the real case.

He couldn’t see Edward’s face due to his ridiculous pose, but he did notice the suit was different. For as long as Oswald could remember, since the “birth” of the Riddler, Ed kept the same bright green suit. Even if it got ruined or destroyed, he would have a new one made to be exactly the same as the one previous. Oswald wasn’t sure if it was due to Ed wanting to be recognizable or because of some other inane compulsion, but this day Ed was dressed different. Yes, he was still bedecked in a richly coloured suit, but the green of this one was significantly darker. The shirt he wore beneath it was also black instead of white, and the hat Edward used to cover his face as a dark green like his suit.

Indeed, this was a significant change, and Oswald (though he welcomed the change from Ed’s regular loud wardrobe) felt all the more uneasy because of it.

Oswald swallowed hard, then took a determined step forward while making sure to school his face to appear uninterested. “Are you finished? Because some of us have businesses to run.”

That made Ed lower his arm and push his hat further onto his head, but underneath his smile was wide and toothy. Oswald’s mouth went dry as he examined the other man’s face, or at least the part of it that wasn’t cast in shadow by his hat. It was so familiar, yet alien as well. It had been a very long time since the two had even been in the same room. He was suddenly aware that his palms had become sweaty.

“Oh Oswald,” Edward said, smile still impossibly wide. “Has anyone ever told you you work too hard? Sometimes you need to cut loose and have some fun.” He raised his hands and gave them a quick “Ta Da” spin.

“Fun?” With his cane Oswald made a sweeping gesture to the theater. “This, hanging out in a dilapidated heap with dead rats and a man whom I’m fairly sure has soiled himself,” here Oswald made a pointed jab towards the man in the chair, “is your idea of fun? Sorry, but I think I’ll pass.”

“I knew you’d say something like that,” Ed replied. He moved towards his captive but kept his eyes on Oswald. “But I think you’ll change your tune when you see what I’ve brought you.”

“Is this the “gift” your message mentioned?” Though he kept it out of his voice, Oswald’s interest was perked. He had started to suspect this gentleman was meant for him in some way or another, but as of yet he couldn’t figure out just who the captive was.

Ed’s face scrunched up with glee. “Bingo!” Ed was now behind the tied-up man’s chair and brought his hands down on the poor soul’s shoulders, causing him to cry out in fear and attempt to shrink into his seat. It was not a voice Oswald could say for certain he recognized.

Before Oswald could ask more, Ed released the man’s shoulders, straightened dramatically, and began to recite. “I sing when I’m struck-” he hit the back of the man’s head and the man cried out, “- or whenever they shake me-” he violently shook him, causing the man to begin outright sobbing. “By mould and cast, the craftsmen make me. What am I?”

Oswald said nothing, just continued to stare at Edward with what he hoped was a blank look. He had been on the receiving end of Ed’s riddles many times, and he refused to play this game all over again. If he said nothing he knew it was only a matter of time before the other man nearly had to vomit the answer out.

Still, it made him remember when he first met Edward, how the socially awkward man would spit the lines of his riddles out in quick succession out of nervousness. But now he declared them proudly, the flow like a poem or a melody, nearly hypnotizing.

“Bell!” Edward finally exploded, the time Oswald had been lost in thought enough to drive the him to answering his own riddle, just like Oswald knew he would. “The answer is a bell.”

Oswald frowned. “What does that-?”

“This-“ Ed interrupted him before he could finish while gesturing to the man in the chair with sweeping arms, “-is Mr. Bell.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Oswald. Yes, he knew many people with the surname Bell, but none that were anything important to him, friend or foe.

As if reading the confusion on Oswald’s face, Ed explained. “Mr. Bell works for a mutual enemy of you and I.”

“So?”

“So…” The face splitting smile reappeared on Ed’s face, somehow even bigger. He rested his elbow on Mr. Bell’s shoulder and leaned casually, like he hadn’t kidnapped and potentially tortured the other man. “I figured we could send a message. And at the same time have some fun, like we used to.” With that he produced a blade from his sleeve and twirled it with one hand, allowing the bright lights to glitter off the blade.

“Like we…” Oh. The tied-up enemy subordinate. The blade. This “gift” was a trip down memory road, back to when Edward had saved Oswald’s life. The first time Ed had saved his life, out of many. Back when they were…

“What do you say?” Ed asked, the smile never leaving his face. “I’ll even let you have first go.”

He would be lying to himself to say he wasn’t tempted. Edward, smiling at him, holding out the knife like an olive branch, to work together again if only for a moment, cutting into a common foe, maybe he could even find out some useful information while he enjoyed seeing Ed’s deadly skill once more. Still…

“I’ll pass,” Oswald declared. It was too good to be true. Ed was up to something, and he refused to take the bait. This was all too deliberate, set up to invoke a very specific reaction in Oswald, and he’d be damned if he did as Ed expected.

The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched, but his lips remained peeled back. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll. Pass.” Oswald stuck his chin out defiantly. “I am the king of Gotham’s underworld. I don’t get my hands dirty these days, I have people for that.” He allowed himself to smirk.

To this Edward chuckled, but it was a dark chuckle, void of his previous mirth.

“Oh come on, Ozzie. You can’t tell me you don’t miss it.” His voice had dipped low, taking on an ominous sound, and Oswald couldn’t help but wonder if Ed was alluding to the act of murder or to something else entirely.

“The joy of inflicting pain,” Ed continued as he flicked the blade across Mr. Bell’s shoulder, slicing through his blazer and shirt underneath, and the man cried out through the sack on his head. Oswald saw a flash of red on Ed’s blade, and his heart skipped a beat.

“The power of holding another’s life in your hands,” another flick, another scream, a fleck of blood landed near Oswald’s feet.

“The rush of knowing you can end it in a moment,” flick, scream, blood, “or make it last for an excruciating eternity.” Oswald found he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Ed creating his meticulous cuts, deep enough to cause pain but shallow enough that the victim wouldn’t risk bleeding out. A real artist of torture.

Ed paused and turned back towards Oswald, his smile different from before, smug and almost seductive. Once again he held out his knife, now bloody, towards Oswald. “Your turn.”

And he wanted to take it, Oswald really did. To join this dance of mutilation with Edward as his partner was all he ever wanted. But instead he gripped his cane tighter and stared intently at Mr. Bell instead of Ed.

“You have wasted enough of my time today, Ed,” Oswald made sure to drip his words in venom to hide how easy it would be for Ed to change his mind if he so chose to try. “This little performance is a bit much, however, and I have much more important things that require my attention.” He didn’t, of course, at least nothing that he hadn’t already put on hold when he received Edward’s riddle that morning.

“Do not call me “Ed,”” was the snarled reply. Oswald could see his eyes blazing even through the shadows the brim of his hat cast. “It’s The Riddler. And this is a gift. To you, from me. Will you accept it?” His smile was gone now, his previous confidence cracked, and the grip on his knife tightened.

Oswald eyed Mr. Bell again, the poor man whose blazer was now red with his own blood, his chest heaving as he cried, the sack over his head moving in and out as he hiccupped between sobs. “I prefer cash.”

For a second Oswald thought the other man might explode with anger. Edward opened his mouth to retort, something witty or violent most likely, maybe even both, but Oswald raised a hand and interrupted him.

“Listen, Ed,” Oswald said loudly, “I’m not sure what you’re after, a favour, information, it doesn’t matter. I’m done, and I’m leaving-“

“After-? What- no!”

“Good bye, Edward.” Forcing himself to turn on his heel and start back up the aisleway without stealing one more glance at Ed was incredibly hard for Oswald, but he was proud he was able to do it.

“Don’t you dare walk away!” Ed basically screeched after him. “I did all of this for you! Me! Edward would never-!”

A scream began to cut through the theater space, but it turned into a grotesque gurgling. Oswald spun around to see Edward leaning over Mr. Bell, back to the audience with shoulders trembling, his knife buried into the captured man’s throat causing crimson blood to cascade down his chest.

The sight shook Oswald a bit, even though he had seen worse atrocities in his life. It came with the business. But the words he just heard echoed over and over in his head. Something was not right, and his mind desperately tried to piece it all together. The sudden message from Ed after an eternity of mutual silence, the new suit, "Edward would never-"

“It’s true,” Oswald found himself uttering before he could stop himself. He watched with wide eyes as Ed slowly turned his head and peered back at him over his shoulder.

“Oops,” he said, the rage that had been in his voice a moment ago suddenly gone. “Did I accidentally give myself away?”

For a long time Oswald had heard rumours, rumours that Edward was not just a deranged murderer, but that his mental state was so fragile he actually became another person at times. Multiple personalities, Oswald guessed it was called. He himself didn’t believe it at first, but the stories kept coming to him. But suddenly Oswald now was a believer.

“You’re not Ed,” Oswald said, a bit lamely, but he really didn’t know what else to say. He found himself leaning harder on his cane because it felt like at any moment the floor might give out.

“You got me!” the other man cried triumphantly, spinning to finally face Oswald fully once more.

“Then who are you?”

This made him smile just as large as he had when he had first appeared on the stage before Oswald. “You know who I am.”

Oswald swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like he might vomit just a little. “The Riddler.”

“The one and only,” he replied and bowed with a grand flourish.

As the Riddler straightened the two of men watched each other for a moment, allowing the revelation to settle between them. Oswald became aware that Mr. Bell was no longer gurgling, probably because he was no longer breathing, and he nodded towards the fresh corpse.

“So what was this then?” he asked. “Some kind of test, or just some sort of sick game for you?”

The Riddler’s mouth opened with mock insult and he placed a hand dramatically on his chest. “I find that accusation a bit offensive. Why would I want to do that to you?”

“How should I know?” Because this wasn’t Ed. Oswald knew Ed, through out everything, no matter how much time had passed, he knew Edward Nygma. And this was someone else who wore his face. Suddenly Oswald felt he was in very real danger.

“It’s exactly what I said it was,” the Riddler assured him. He turned back to Mr. Bell and and looked at his handiwork with smug satisfaction. “A gift. I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Something nice?” Oswald echoed, not bothering to mask his disbelief.

“Of course.” The Riddler said cheerfully, as if they were talking about chocolates or flowers. “What do you get the King of Gotham as a present? What do you get a man like Oswald Cobblepot? It has to be something special, but also unique. Something meaningful, and personal as well.”

“Sorry, but a dead body isn’t exactly at the top of my Christmas list.”

The other man let out a short laugh, so much like Ed’s but also different, and he fixed Oswald with a look one would give a simple child.

“I can bring tears to your eyes,” The Riddler began to recite, straightening his back and projecting his voice to the entire theater like he was performing for an audience. “And resurrect the dead. I form in an instant and can last a lifetime. What am I?”

It took only a moment for Oswald to recognize the riddle, and when he did a blazing fire erupted in his chest.

“No!” he spat at the other man, so full of sudden anger that spit flew from his lips. “No! Don’t you dare! You do not get to say those words!”

“Excuse me?” The Riddler took a step back from Oswald’s fury with genuine confusion on his face, as if he did not expect this reaction at all.

“Those words are- were-“ Precious, Oswald was going to say but stopped himself. It was one of his most cherished memories, a riddle about memory itself. When he was at his lowest, with nothing else in this world, Ed had given him that riddle, a place to stay, and someone who would become his most treasured friend. No matter how horrible things became between the two of them, Oswald always, always, held tight to that memory. Of a simpler time. Of when he was happy.

“Edward Nygma told me that riddle,” Oswald said instead, his body shaking from his anger. “You do not get to stand there, with his face and his voice, and spit it out like it means something between you and I.”

The confusion dropped from the Riddler’s face and was replaced by something dark. “It does.”

“No!” Oswald snapped back. It was probably not wise to start a fight here, with some fragmented piece of Edward’s personality, in a place where nobody knew he was at and maybe would never find him if he was killed, but Oswald never really saw himself as wise. Clever, yes. Intelligent, yes. But never wise.

“You made me come here,” he continued vehemently, “and arranged all of this, expecting I don’t know what, but this is all based on experiences I shared with Edward Nygma, and you are not him!”

“Edward Nygma is a pathetic nobody!” The Riddler roared. He jumped off the stage and was in Oswald’s face in less than three strides, his own face twisted in an anger that matched Oswald's own. Oswald leaned away from him but the Riddler came closer, invading his space more. “He is weak! He is worthless! He could never best me!”

“You’re wrong,” Oswald choked out, suddenly paralyzed with fear to have this crazed stranger so close.

It would be easy to pull the knife out of his cane handle and bury it deep into the Riddler’s chest now that they were a breath apart, but Oswald stopped himself. This wasn’t a case of a wild clone or an evil twin, which sometimes did happen in Gotham. No, if he harmed the Riddler, he would harm Ed, and that was something he couldn’t let himself do.

“I was born because Edward couldn’t live up to his potential,” Riddler said. Oswald could feel his breath on his face but he was frozen, unable to take a step away. “And I’m in control because he was too weak to fight me off.”

Oswald felt his own anger ebbing back into his chest, chasing away his fear. It was true he himself had said similar things to Ed in the past, that he was worthless, stupid, a nobody, but Oswald never believed it, not really. It was just his was of hurting Ed because he knew how prideful the other man could be. Yet hearing those same words come out of Edward’s own mouth, but with someone else saying them, was too much.

“Edward is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” Oswald found himself saying through clenched teeth. “You may be in control of his body now, but mark my words, he will find a way back. You could never hope to compare to him.”

The Riddler grabbed onto Oswald’s lapel with force and pulled him even closer to his face, their noses almost touching. “Why are you defending him?! He betrayed you, tried to kill you over and over, destroyed your empire!”

Oswald couldn’t help give a crooked smile. “It’s Gotham. What’s a little murder between friends?”

With a shove the Riddler let go of Oswald and took a couple steps back, his face full of disgust. “He never deserved you, never appreciated you. And he turned on you, all because you did him the favour of getting rid of that vapid Isabelle.”

“Isabella,” Oswald correct without thinking, then paused. He took a close look at the Riddler’s face and saw that it had softened. Yes, there was still anger, but something else as well. Wistfulness?

“I thought it was genius,” the Riddler admitted. “A simple solution, nearly elegant. Your only mistake was not making sure that car got destroyed before Eddie got a change to look it over.”

Seeing Edward’s face looking pleased while talking about the death of the woman he claimed to love made Oswald’s stomach churn. If he needed any proof that this Riddler was a completely separate entity than Ed, this was definitely it.

“My only mistake,” Oswald said with bitterness in his voice, “was betraying my best friend and having his girlfriend murdered.” He had never admitted it was a mistake before, at least not out loud. But for some time now Oswald knew he had fucked up, and because of his jealousy and selfishness he had destroyed the relationship he had with Edward, the person who meant the most to him in the entire world.

“Poor Eddie always had a tough time with the ladies,” Riddler continued as if he hadn’t heard Oswald. “Had terrible taste in them, too. He never saw what was right in front of him. The greatness. The majesty. But I did.” With this he met Oswald’s gaze and the breath caught in Oswald’s throat. There was vulnerability there, and something akin to longing.

“I don’t-“ Oswald began, but stopped when the Riddler sudden rushed towards him again.

“I saw you, Oswald,” he said softly. All the anger had vanished from the man’s body and face, replaced with a different but equal intensity. He stopped only a few inches away from Oswald and towered over him, forcing the shorter man to tilt his head up to continue meeting his eyes with defiance.

The Riddler moved his hand out like he was going to grab onto Oswald’s jacket again but paused with his fingers in midair. “I saw everything he didn’t. Your brilliance, your violence, every wonderful and dangerous thing about you. I saw it all and knew he was a fool for squandering your affection.”

All Oswald could do was stare back. He didn’t know what to say, what he could say. This was something he had longed to hear and having them said to him made a warmth bloom in his chest. But it wasn’t Edward who was saying them.

When Oswald remained silent the Riddler wet his lips nervously, then said in a gentle voice, “Made by God in pairs, separated at birth on Earth. Found after years of search, inseparable for the rest of time. What am I?”

For a moment Oswald searched the Riddler’s intense stare, unsure. But slowly the answer came to his mind and he swallowed apprehensively. “Soulmates.”

“Yes,” he said, a smile appearing on his face but this time soft and a bit relieved.

“No,” Oswald responded quickly. Whatever spell the Riddler had cast on him that had frozen him to the spot had broken in that moment and Oswald found he could finally force his own feet to step away from him.

“What?”

“No,” Oswald repeated, this time with more force. “You and I are not “soulmates,” I don’t even know what you are. But there is no connection between the two of us.”

“We are the same!” The Riddler shouted back, a bit of desperation sneaking into his voice. He moved to step closer to Oswald but Oswald readjusted his cane in his hands so he could pull the blade out, causing the Riddler to stop in his tracks.

“We are nothing alike,” Oswald retorted, gripping the handle of his cane so hard he was certain his knuckles were turning white. “I for one have my own body and don’t have to live like some parasite in the back of someone else’s mind!”

“No one understands you like I do,” The Riddler cried, somewhere between pleading and demanding. “And no one ever will!”

“Wrong! If you understood me, you would have known this little plan of yours wouldn’t work.” Forcing Oswald to relive moments from his past with Edward could only have resulted in him longing for his past relationship with Ed, what they had had before he had ruined it all.

The Riddler didn’t reply, instead he spun to one of the nearby misshapen theater chairs and kicked it with a furious cry.

“What did you think would happen?” Oswald yelled at his back, stepping away again to insure a safe distance. “Did you honestly think you could make me kill a man with you and, what, I would fall in love with you?” Like I did with Ed, Oswald thought. Yes, the night they spent cutting up Galavan’s grunt had been the start, when Oswald had started to fall for the man that had saved his life. And it would appear that the Riddler may have realized this as well.

“You call Ed pathetic,” he continued, “but you are so much more pitiful than he could ever be.”

“All. I. Wanted.” The Riddler emphasized each word with a stomp on the chair that was the target for his wrath. “Was to show you.”

“Show me what?”

The Riddler spun around and snarled, “that you deserve so much more than him!”

Oswald snorted. “And that’s you?”

“You deserve someone who would accept you. All of you, every terrible facet.” The Riddler moved towards him again, slowly, like a predator. But this time when Oswald pulled on the handle of his cane to allow an inch of blade to show, the Riddler didn’t stop.

“Don’t come near me again,” Oswald demanded and pulled the knife fully from it’s sheath, holding it in front of himself with a steady hand.

“You won’t stab me, you wouldn’t risk killing Ed,” he spit the name out with disgust. The Riddler stopped right in front of Oswald and pushed the hand that held the knife aside. “You’ve proven that much.”

“And you’ve proven how little you know me.”

With a quick movement Oswald brought the fist that held the knife hilt to smash into the side of the Riddler’s face. The punch caused him to crash to the ground and Oswald took the opportunity to switch the blade to his free hand and pull his handgun out with the other.

As the Riddler writhed on the dirty theater floor Oswald came to tower over him, pointing the gun down at him. His heart pounded with fear. The Riddler was right, he didn’t want to have to kill Edward. But maybe it would be a mercy if Ed was trapped inside his own body, unable to take control.

“Is Ed still in there?” Oswald asked. He kept his voice stern but inside he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

The Riddler rolled onto his back and glared up at Oswald, blood covering his teeth and lips. He eyed the gun but stayed silent.

“Answer me,” Oswald demanded, trying not to sound desperate but not sure if he was successful.

“Edward Nygma is gone,” the Riddler replied then followed it with a spiteful laugh.

“You’re lying.” Oswald wasn’t sure if he believed what came out of his own mouth or if it was just what he greatly hoped.

“I’m not.”

“You are. Tell the truth.” His voice cracked a bit but he ignored it.

The Riddler began to sit up and spit out a mouthful of blood. “Some try to hide, some try to cheat, but in the end we always meet. What am I?”

“Enough riddles-“

“Death! He’s as good as dead!” The crimson smile the Riddler gave him made Oswald feel sick and panicked. “I made sure to break down Ed’s psyche so badly his mind completely and utterly shattered. He’s never coming back!”

“Stop. Lying!” Oswald pulled back the hammer on his gun with his thumb and pointed it at the Riddler’s leg. “A shot in the leg won’t kill you, but it sure will hurt like a bitch.”

The red grin stayed in place but something else flickered in the Riddler’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll never forgive you, you know. Not after everything you did. He hates you!”

Oswald felt a quick wave of relief, followed by a stab of pain in his heart. Ed was still in there then, and he still detested Oswald. This he knew was a truth.

“I don’t care if he hates me,” Oswald said, his voice low and soft. Because Edward had every right to hate him, this was something he knew deep down.

“But I won’t leave him trapped in his own body,” he continued. He stepped forward so he was right above the Riddler and he pointed his weapon at the other man’s face. “Now tell me, how do I set him free?”

The Riddler snorted with disdain. “Do you honestly think I’d tell you?”

Oswald frowned deeply. No, of course the Riddler wouldn’t. But violence could only get Oswald so far, he couldn’t very well beat the answer out of him, not when Ed would also receive the same beating. He had to switch tactics.

With a grunt of pain Oswald bent his bad leg and knelt before the Riddler, keeping his gun aimed at the other man but also looking deeply into his eyes. “Edward. Are you in there?”

“It won’t work,” the Riddler told him. He leaned closer to Oswald’s face, dark eyes crazed. “You are the last person he would want to see.”

Oswald pointedly ignored him. “Ed, please. I know you’re in there. Listen to me, to my voice.” He really didn’t know what he was doing, had no clue how this whole thing work between Ed and the Riddler, but he had to continue to try.

“Just forget about him. You don’t need him-“ the Riddler reached out and grabbed a two handfuls of Oswald’s coat, angrily, desperately. “-you have me.”

“I don’t need you,” Oswald spit back. He shoved the end of his gun under the Riddler’s chin, hoping it would deter any more attempts at physically contact, but the Riddler didn’t let go.

“We could bring Gotham to it’s knees. You and I, together.” The look the Riddler gave him, one of pure longing, would have broken anyone else’s heart. But not Oswald’s, not when his main concern at the moment was getting Ed back.

“There is no “you and I”,” Oswald snapped.

The Riddler was trying to get him off track, he had to be, so what Oswald was doing must be working somehow. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm and center himself (which was a difficult thing to do since he was, well, Oswald Cobblepot), then opened them once more the look into the Riddler’s- no, Ed’s eyes, hoping to see something there that meant his one-time friend could heart him.

“Edward Nygma,” Oswald said softly, ignoring the snarl the Riddler gave out at the name. “I know you are in there, and I know you are stronger than this pathetic wannabe.”

“He will never beat me,” the Riddler howled, “can never beat me!”

Now the Riddler let go, actually tried to push Oswald away, but without thinking Oswald dropped both his knife and gun so he could grab onto the other man’s face and force him to keep looking at him.

“Fight, Ed!” Oswald said desperately, struggling to keep the Riddler from turning his face away. “I know you have it in you.”

“He’s weak-“

“You’ve been through worse-“

“-and idiotic-“

“-you can get through anything that’s thrown at you-“

“-we’d both be better off without him!”

While Oswald was distracted with getting through to Ed, the Riddler had grabbed the forgotten hand gun off the ground and point it at the side of Oswald’s head.

“I’ll do it, Oswald,” the Riddler said. “I don’t want to, but I will if you keep pushing.” His face was scrunched up like he was in pain, but Oswald wasn’t sure if it was from the inner turmoil the man was going through from keeping Edward at bay, or from the thought of shooting Oswald in the head.

Oswald’s heart pounded in his chest, though whether it was the result of his own death being so close or the emotion that had risen up while he pleaded for Ed to come back, he couldn’t be sure. But instead of knocking the gun out of the Riddler’s hand or shoving the man away from him, Oswald gripped the Riddler’s face harder. The face he knew so well.

“Please,” the word fell from Oswald’s lips weakly. “Edward, please.”

“Don’t test me,” the Riddler spat back.

“Ed-“

“Stop it!”

“-come back to me.”

“Ugh!”

The cry rang out through theater and Oswald closed his eyes tight, expecting a bullet to blast through the side of his head. But it didn’t come. Instead, there was silence. No, not complete silence, heavy breathing coming from himself, and also from the person on the ground before him.

“O-Oswald?”

It wasn’t the name itself that sent a jolt through Oswald, but the soft, confused voice that said it. He opened his eyes to the Riddler staring at him while his face was cupped in Oswald’s hands, chest heaving and sweat on his forehead, one shaking hand still holding the gun to Oswald’s head.

“W-what’s going on?” the other man continued, the look in his eyes lost and panicked.

Oswald let out a sigh of relief. A part of him knew it could be a trick by the Riddler, or maybe yet another fragment of Edward’s personality he didn’t know about, but in his heart Oswald believed it was the real Edward Nygma that sat in front of him.

But before he could feel a real respite Edward shoved Oswald away from him and scuttled back, still holding the pistol in front of him with a shaking hand and pointed at Oswald.

“How did I get here?” Edward demanded, though his voice cracked. “What am I doing here?”

“Ed, it’s okay,” Oswald said softly. He raised both hands in front of him to show that he was unarmed. “You’re okay. It's over.”

“I’m-“ Ed began as he looked around the area in a panic, then stopped suddenly, his eyes going wide. “Oh no. H-he did this, didn't he?"

Oswald didn't need to ask who "He" was, he knew who Ed was asking about. Silent Oswald nodded in response and saw the fear crash upon Edward's face.

"No-no-no.” Ed let out an anguished, guttural sound, then pulled his legs to his chest, his arms around his head, and rocked.

Oswald took the opportunity to crawl forward, ignoring the dirty theater floor and the pain in his bad leg. He stopped in front of the shaking Ed and hesitated to touch him. Ed did still clutch the pistol in his hand and Oswald didn’t feel like accidentally getting shot while trying to console him.

“Ed?” Oswald said instead, leaning in as close as he dared. “Can you hear me?”

He didn’t get an answer, only Ed uttering “no” to himself over and over again.

Oswald took a deep breath, then placed a gentle hand on the other man’s shoulder. Edward flinched, but didn’t shake if off. Instead his shoulders began to shake and Oswald could hear soft sobbing, not unlike Mr. Bell when Oswald had first arrived at the theater.

“It’s alright, Ed,” Oswald said, as equally to himself as to Edward. It was clear that his old friend needed someone, and Oswald knew he wasn’t the right choice but he was the only one there. He couldn’t very well leave him like this.

As he watched Ed weep his throat grew tight. No, he would stay with Edward, as long as it took. Minutes, hours, days. Not just with this moment, but whatever Ed needed in the future. Because the Riddler was still in there, somewhere, and Oswald promised himself that he would do whatever it took to free Edward from his hold for good.

Ed may hate him, may refuse his help, but Oswald knew he could be very persuasive when he really wanted to. And for Ed he would do anything.

But in this moment Edward just needed comfort, and so Oswald squeezed his shoulder to assure him that he wasn’t alone. To his surprise, Ed’s empty hand slid from the top of his head and onto Oswald’s. Ed didn’t say anything, didn’t squeeze Oswald’s hand back, just let his shaking palm lay onto of Oswald’s. And that was okay.

That was enough.