Getting into Elsa's room was proving to be disappointingly easy.

In all honesty the Arendelle Institute for the Emotionally Unwell or whatever the fuck the place was called had some shit security. Probably because the funding for the place was meager at best; it wasn't exactly the newest place, or the nicest. His bed squeaked something fierce at night when he rolled over in his sleep, and the ceilings had water stains. Most of the budget went towards medication, food and clothes: the necessities. But the security cameras were old, as was the staff. New hires were rare, and they weren't always top-notch. The majority of patients were just pathetic sob stories too, and not necessarily dangerous so it's not like round-the-clock guard-dog watchtower-sniper security was really practical.

This made it easy for Hans to play the part of the cunning, silent thief.

They should take better care in interviewing their prospective hires, Hans thought as a smug grin graced his face. A glint of metal peeked out from between pale fingers as he slipped a freshly-stolen set of keys into his front pocket. One little puppy-dog pout and that ditz Kari was like putty in my hands. Too busy ogling me like a piece of emotionally-distressed but still oh-so-handsome piece of meat.

I mean come on, what does she think I am? The star of whatever stupid romance novel she's currently writing in her head? Or should I say co-star… she does fit the role of 'uninteresting and unappealing basic little bitch' that for seem reason seems to be fiction's favorite archetype at the moment quite nicely.

Kari was one of the newest nurses on staff, a bubbly but incredibly dense and naïve redhead (the thought that his darling Anna too possessed these qualities never crossed his mind, too perfect was she in his eyes to ever be similar to an annoying girl such as Kari) with bad teeth and a penchant for idiotic rambling. She couldn't have been more than five years older than him and yet even upon their first meeting he felt vastly superior.

And as far as he was concerned, his feelings were correct.

He'd just finished suffering through one of the Weasel's hour-long therapy sessions, jaw stiff with irritation and barely-concealed anger… as per usual.

God, how he hated those sessions…

"So, my boy, how are we feeling today?"

"I don't know how many fucking times I have to tell you, Weasel. Stop calling me that. I'm not your boy, I'm not your friend. I'm not your anything."

"Ah, but you are my patient. And as such, you need to open up to me sooner or later. This constant alternation between aggression and nonchalance was old on day one."

"I'm being kept here against my will, so sorry that my disposition isn't as bright and shiny as that bald cranium of yours."

"Is that right? But you agreed to come here for treatment, did you not?"

"It was this cozy little place or jail, you idiot. I'm too pretty for jail."

Talking with Dr. Weselton was always either hilarious or infuriating. Making fun of his ridiculous facial hair and his fake hair never failed to get a twitch out of the old man, but lately the little man's questions had begun hitting a little too close to home.

"Hans, I'd like to talk about your family. You can't keep avoiding these questions forever."

"I just don't understand why you want to talk about my folks. They've been dead for a decade, old man. My bleeding heart's been stitched and healed for quite a while."

"I don't mean your parents, Hans. How does Anna feel about this?"

The first time Weselton had asked that, Hans had gone still.

"…about what?"

His shaky response (his first ever response of that nature) had only ensured further pursuits in that line of questioning. And his body would react the same way every time.

"How do you think Anna feels, seeing you like this?"

He'd break out into a cold sweat.

"How do you think Anna felt when police showed up at your door, looking for you?"

He'd become hyper-sensitive to everything around him. The twitching in the tendons of his fingers, the follicles of every hair on his head, the beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead…

"How do you think Anna felt watching you beat that poor boy half to death?"

His head would pound and his jaw would ache, so harshly did he grit his teeth to keep from leaping over the table to rip the doctor's mouth clean off. Questions like that weren't fair. They weren't fair.

Anna was his whole world. Everything he did, he did for her. For her happiness. For her safety. It wasn't his fault he was in here, and it wasn't his fault that everyone else seemed determined to make their lives difficult. The only thing he wanted was to be with Anna, to be happy like they used to be. They didn't need anyone else! They didn't need doctors or nurses or teachers or whoever the fuck else thought they had a right to tell them what to do.

They didn't need their parents. They'd gotten along just fine without them.

They didn't need friends. The fact that Anna always came to see him just proved that he was her number one priority. She didn't need anyone else.

She certainly didn't need Elsa.

Just the thought of the silent blonde freak had the hairs on the back of Hans' neck standing on end. Sure, even he had to admit that she was aesthetically appealing, what with the blue eyes and weirdly-pale blonde hair… but there was just something off about her. It wasn't the silence, obviously that was odd but it was clearly a legit issue and he didn't think it was an act.

(He knew a lot about acting, so he was fairly confident in that assumption.)

The silence wasn't what creeped him out, it was her eyes. As innocent as everyone seemed to think she was, there was a depth in her eyes that hinted at an observant mind. Observant minds were dangerous. They took note of everything, any insignificant detail, purely through the unconscious paranoia that plagued them. Observant minds were capable of intense thought, complicated strategy and unhealthy obsession. Observant minds were never at rest, and Hans knew that this Elsa girl had thoughts to spare for his sister. He could see it in the way they darkened and dragged themselves over his sister's frame, and though blue was meant to be a peaceful color Hans couldn't help but liken her eyes to a haunted lake inhabited by something twisted and dangerous.

But Anna was too loving, too sweet to just accept his word without proof. Even he wasn't that narcissistic.

That's why he'd stolen the keys. He was going to find his proof.

If he could find proof and prove to Anna that Elsa couldn't trust her, then he could tear her to pieces with a clear conscience. Maybe he wouldn't even have to do that, maybe if he found the right kind of proof Anna would be so disgusted that she'd get rid of Elsa on her own. The thought made him grin.

He just hoped he'd find something useful.

After he found out about Anna and Elsa's little playdates he put on his best good-boy persona and used every trick in his book to find out which days Anna visited, and for how long. It helped that his window had a good view of the gardens. Certain patients were allowed scheduled time outside, and since he spent so much of his time just watching the birds flying around outside (because in all honesty there was little else he could do in that room) and observing what little ground was afforded to his view.

He wasn't stupid enough to ask about Anna or Elsa directly, that would have been too suspicious. The smarter nurses would have seen through him immediately.

But there was nothing suspicious about asking curious questions about the patients he saw outside. Little things like 'Oh, I saw this woman with crazy hair the other day, black on one side and white on the other, who is she?' or 'Does that one man who's always stumbling around the garden really think he's a pirate?' They were harmless questions, but with every answer he was building a schedule of who went out on what days. And since it was the same every week, by the third week he was fairly confident that he knew when Elsa would be out of her room, drooling over his little sister while they sat in the visitor's lounge.

The knowledge that his sister was in the building made his blood boil, just like it always did whenever either of them was threatened. The urge to run to her and hold her and get them both out of here was almost overpowering.

But his need to show her that he was right and Elsa was dangerous was even more pressing.

"Hello Hans, ready to go back to your room?" Hans looked up and forced a smile on his face at the sight of Merriweather approaching him. She always picked him up and escorted him to and from his sessions, and she used to escort him to the visitor's lounge when he still had his visitation rights.

It had been so long since he'd seen Anna's face…

"Yes ma'am," he murmured, but just then Kari peeked her head out from Weselton's office door. For a moment, panic raced up Hans' spine and coalesced in his chest.

Did she notice?

Sure, the girl wasn't the brightest crayon in the box but Hans wasn't exactly a skilled pickpocket. It was very possible that she'd noticed, and now he was about to be in a world of trouble.

But his fears were relieved when all the woman did was grin and wave to Merriweather before disappearing back inside. He watched her go with a cocked brow, resisting the urge to sigh in relief. When she was gone he turned back to Merriweather and she began to herd him up the stairs and back to his room. As they went, he prayed the keys would stay silent in his pocket and not alert the elderly nurse to their present.

He knew they wouldn't be missed for a while; Kari was still new and had relatively few duties. She mainly helped with cooking and cleaning, and she did some therapy sessions with the institute's youngest patients. Hopefully she wouldn't notice her keys were gone until late in the day, possibly tomorrow morning if he was lucky. By then, he'd have his proof and he could just drop the keys somewhere that wouldn't relate back to him.

Maybe I can drop them under Weselton's desk. Since she was just in there maybe she'll just assume she dropped them.

As he ascended the stairs with Merriweather he made a mental run-through of his schedule, just to double-check with himself to make sure today was the right day.

Lady DeVille was in the garden two days ago… and that little blonde girl was wandering around with that stuffed rabbit this morning, which makes today Wednesday. The Ice Queen should be with Anna in the visitor's lounge for another few hours… that one time I saw her it was dinnertime. She must have a later dinner block, which means after the old lady drops me off I should have plenty of time to get in and get out before anyone knows anything.

The hall cam is broken, so no one should see me… but I'll need to be quiet just in case. I just hope I remember which room is hers… was it three doors down? Or four?

Soon enough Merriweather had led him back to the little cell he was forced to call a bedroom, and he was being ushered inside. Merriweather didn't care for him much, he could tell by how short and curt she was with him, she never went out of her way to be affectionate with him. It didn't bother him too much though, he was used to it.

"I'll be back to pick you up for dinner in a few hours."

Hans just hummed in response and went to lie down on his bed. Even after the door closed and locked he waited, staring up at the ceiling and steeling his nerves for the task ahead.

Eventually when his breathing was calm (calm enough by his standards, a yoga instructor certainly wouldn't have thought him fit for duty) he went to the door and retrieved the keys from his pocket. Hoping he'd be lucky enough to the right one on the first try, he needed to get this done quick. It was just unfortunate that real-world lock-picking wasn't as easy as virtual lock picking. If this was Skyrim he wouldn't have even needed the keys.

But something must have been on his side for very first key he slid into the lock was the right one, and a sick grin spread across his face as the door clicked open. He let himself have a moment of celebration before he squared his shoulders and his eyes narrowed in determination. He turned the knob slowly, so as not to make more noise than was necessary, and gave himself enough room to peek into the hallway. When he was sure it was empty, he slid into the hall and shut the door behind him, taking care to lock it again on the odd chance someone might come by to check the doors while he was in the Ice Queen's room. He quickly moved down the hall, counting three doors and wondering if he had the right room. He squinted at the door for a moment, before second-guessing himself and moving one door further down.

His uncertainty paid off, for after some time fumbling for the right key the door opened and the chill that escaped the room (be it his overactive imagine or not) was a sign to Hans that he was in the right place. He cast one last glance down the hall to make sure no one would witness his trespass before slipping inside.

Admittedly, his initial reaction to the state of the room he found himself in was not necessarily negative. The Ice Queen kept her room very tidy; her bed was perfectly made and everything on her desk (he couldn't help but think, Why don't I get a desk?) was organized. In fact, the only thing that seemed out of place was the collection of paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.

One look at them and he knew that Anna had made them. He wasn't sure how, but he knew.

So why did Elsa have them?

His lip curled and his fists tightened, the urge to rip them down nearly overpowering. But he didn't. The only thing he was here for was proof, and destroying the place to vent his anger was not a productive way to spend what little time he had.

Turning his gaze away from the clumsily-made colorful little creations, he redirected his attention towards the desk. He hurried over to it and pulled open the first drawer, finding what looked like a blue sketchbook inside. He pulled it out and flipped through it briefly, judgmental eyes passing over sketches of anything and everything. There were a lot of foxes, foxes and eyes and unfinished profiles. There were bare-bones sketches of what Hans guessed were other patients. A particularly pudgy frame actually got a chuckle out of him, the few lines easily capturing the head nurse Gerda's great girth.

But this book was useless if all it got out of him was a chuckle.

With a huff he snapped it shut and tossed it on the desk and resumed his search. The second drawer in the desk was filled with balled up pieces of paper, notebooks hidden underneath them. Hans grabbed a handful, spreading them out onto the desk with suspicion and excitement in his snake-like eyes.

All of them seemed to be letters Elsa had attempted to write, and a noise not dissimilar to a growl escaped Hans' throat when he realized that most of them were addressed to his sister. None of them were very long however and many of them had thick black lines slashed through them, making most of them barely legible… which was incredibly frustrating since that meant these wouldn't help him either.

Only one stood out, the one that looked to be the Ice Queen's most successful attempt. In a shaky, unsure scrawl Elsa had written Anna's name, and the following message: 'I'wish you knew how long I've wanted to say your name out loud, to know how it feels. I'm so sorry that I' the following three lines were slashed clean through before the message picked up again. 'I'm so pathetic... I've gone so long without words that even writing is a struggle. I've almost forgotten how to use them and honestly I've read up on speech therapy, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to speak like I used to before-'

Hans frowned. Of course, just as it was getting interesting, it cut off. Well, she's got one thing right. She is pathetic.

Still, not proven dangerous. So he turned his attention to the third and final drawer in the desk, the frustration that boiled in his blood showing in the way he yanked the door open with definitely more force than was necessary. This one contained another assortment of letters and cards, but these were not Elsa's creations. Each one had been perfectly folded and each was comfortable in their well-preserved envelopes. And there were a lot of them, enough that they nearly filled the drawer. Reaching out for one, Hans admired the beautiful stationary and looked to see who the letter was addressed to and who had sent it.

His brows rose in surprise when he realized that each one of these letters was sent by Elsa's own parents. Curiosity (and perhaps jealousy) got the better of him and he pulled the letter itself out. It was nearly three pages long, and the penmanship was impeccable. The script was slanted and close-set and even Hans had to squint to make it out.

This particular one was old, for one line read: 'I can't believe my little girl is finally thirteen! I was so looking forward to having Edna make a new dress for you but she just insisted she had more important works of art to create. I swear it my dear, the woman is gifted with both extreme talent and a think just a touch of madness…'

Yet more evidence that Elsa was as harmless as everyone seemed to think she was. Hans' nostrils flared but there was a misery in his eyes as he gazed at the letter. In a moment of vulnerability he brought the letter closer to his face and sniffed it.

For a moment he wondered if his mother had worn a similar perfume.

He stared at the letter a moment more before sighing and folding it back up with care. He leaned down to place it back amongst its brothers his shoulders sagging with an emptiness that had hit him out of nowhere. In that moment all he wanted to do was go back to his room and curl up into a ball until he felt better again. But as he straightened up, something caught his eye.

Beneath all the letters, carefully hidden, was a large black book.

Eyes widening, Hans grabbed for it, the momentary respect he'd shown for Elsa's letters quelled in an instant. The book was heavy, whether with ink or secrets he'd have to find out, and find out he would. He placed it on the desk, brushing aside the balled up messages he'd neglected to put away. He put his hands on the desk and stared hard at the book's black cover, hopeful and yet somehow nervous to view what might be waiting for him inside. But the young man steeled his nerve and opened the book, slowly revealing…

…his sister. It was a drawing of his sister. And there was another on the next page. And the next one. And the one after that.

"What the…" Horror spread across Hans' face as he realized that this book was literally filled with drawings of his sister Anna. Anna smiling, Anna in profile, Anna sitting with him on the couch, though he was merely a penciled-in frame with no detail at all. "What the fuck."

The rate at which he flipped pages grew steadily as the details in each drawing grew sharper and more accurate, until the resemblance was almost uncanny. Elsa's artistic ability wasn't what disgusted him though. No, what disgusted him was the fact that as he continued his frantic flipping through this disturbing record of the Ice Queen's obsession, the drawings of his sister grew more and more risqué. There were sketches of her blushing, biting her lip, there was an even an entire page dedicated to Anna's eyes alone, clouded and lustful.

And then there was the dress. There was a full-color drawing of his baby sister in a slutty backless dress, showing entirely too much skin for Hans' approval. Anger coursed through his veins, the rage building up inside of him, and when the next page was a hastily-drawn sketch of Anna wearing the dress, sprawled across what was clearly meant to be a bed his hands were shaking.

But his blood ran cold when he got to the final drawing in the book. The urge to vomit roiled in his stomach and he dropped the book like it was aflame.

If only he could be so lucky.

Instead it lay there on the desk, stubbornly turned open to the page that had immediately induced nausea in him. But that nausea gave way to a blind rage, a fury so fierce that the edges of his vision turned black and spotty and every cell in his body seemed to vibrate at a frequency meant only for the most bloodthirsty of beasts.

With a roar Hans leapt forward, tore the page from the book and bowled through the door the way a bull body slams a matador.

The Ice Queen was dead when he found her.

I'm back, darlings. Did you miss me?

I was a bitch in my last author's note, I'm well aware. But I'm not all that sorry for it. I may have been in a bad headspace way back when, but that doesn't excuse all of you for your behavior.

All of you supportive little peeps though are the bomb, and let me just say: the next chapter is the chapter. It is THE chapter. Interpret that how you will.

-Cel