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Darkness was comforting to Jake, old and familiar. But, in the Trials, darkness was a noose slowly cinching around his neck. Darkness was invisible claws that slowly squeezed all the air from his lungs and life from his eyes. Jake ignored the feeling, like always, diligently working on the generator- there were wires to be tied off, and parts to be socketed, no time to even think about how he felt like he was suffocating. Maybe it was better that he was alone, or maybe it was worse. The generator was getting loud enough that Jake had to strain his ears, waiting for the sound of a heartbeat, or footsteps, or- and it was awful that this was what he hoped most for- a teammate’s scream. Because, at least with the last one, it meant he was safe for now. No matter how bitter that thought tasted. But as Jake continued to work, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, he felt… something was wrong. He was nearly halfway done, and nothing had happened. That same feeling from earlier returned, like he was being smothered, and Jake took a deep breath out of instinct alone, and- His fingers slipped. The live wires touched, sparking, and he only had a moment to shield his face as the generator exploded. For half a second, the area was lit up with the flash, illuminating the darkness and throwing dangerous looking shadows over everything. Jake turned his head and locked eyes with the stark white mask that stared back- and Jake reeled, wondering how long the Shape had been there, watching, stalking- and then, motion. The light was swallowed back up, the last glitters of it caught on the edge of a knife that Michael Myers swung down. Jake screamed, just in time for the knife to connect and plunge into his shoulder. The pain never got any easier, and now, it was seering, only made worse as the Shape yanked the knife out and only doubled the sharp, burning pain. Blood slipped between Jake’s fingers, and he didn’t even think, he just ran. The silence was unnerving. Jake whimpered, choked sounds of pain, gravel crunching underfoot as he sprinted as hard as he could. The sound of the Shape’s breathing, heavy and close. There was no heartbeat, just a cold nothingness, and it was almost disturbing. At least the blood rushing in Jake’s ears was a good substitute. In the distance, a sudden clang, and a light that flooded the sky. Jake felt his breath hitch at the first generator being done. Four left. That was fine. He… he had to try and get Myers away from his teammates, give them enough time to do the generators. At least, it was an easy thought. But between the fear that was choking him, and the panic in each flagging step, Jake wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. It- it would be fine. Right? Jake threw a glance over his shoulder, and then all his breath left his lungs in a cry; oh god, he was so close. Jake couldn’t even see his eyes, just darkness, like it was trying to drag him under, just like the feeling of his throat being strangled by the air. Jake should have been paying more attention to where he was running. Slam, into a rock, and Jake’s head was swimming, maybe it was a tree, he couldn’t even tell. He only barely managed to twist around, the whiz of displaced air as the Shape missed a stab. Jake couldn’t focus- there was blood in his eyes, and his vision was getting darker, becoming tunneled, and it took all that he had to push towards the wooden structure. Jungle gyms, they all called the things. Like it was funny. Like it wasn’t terrifying, as the Killer loomed. There was a pallet to the side, and thank god, thank fucking god, Jake lunged for it- Quentin stared, fearful, hands still gripping his wounded side, eyes blown wide. Shit. Jake slammed his feet into the dirt, throwing himself to the opposite side, to the window, anywhere else. Couldn’t let his friend take the hit, not like this. Not him. Jake sprang for the window, one foot already in the air, off the ground, his free hand reaching for the frame- Yank. Jake’s breath was stolen, leaving his smothered lungs in a pained wheeze, as the Shape grabbed the collar of his hoodie and pulled. There wasn’t a pause, or anything, just that terrible strangulation, and then Jake was thrown to the ground. He caught sight of Quentin’s terrified expression, right as his head impacted the dirt. There was blood in his mouth. Blood, coming from his shoulder, and Jake coughed with a gurgling sound, blood staining the dirt. His lips tasted like copper. Everything hurt- everything hurt, and he was going to die. He knew this, as Michael stared him down, sizing up his prey. Jake felt too small, and yet, too large, as he tried to curl into himself and pretended he wasn’t. It only lasted a moment. Only a breath, before the Shape loomed, and reached down, grabbing a fistful of Jake’s hoodie and hauling him upwards. Jake let out a little cry at the jostling, and then grit his teeth, a shuddering breath as he was shoved against the wall. He waited for pain. But the stab never came. Jake, through his half-veiled gaze, watched. Myers was motionless, his knife not moving from its place at Jake’s throat. There was a tension in the air. Jake swallowed, and then shuddered slightly as he suppressed a cough, blood dripping from his lips, trailing down his face to drip to the ground- or it would have, but it just landed on the Shape’s hand, sharp contrast. The Shape’s breathing was labored, suddenly far heavier than Jake had ever heard it. The Killer pressed closer to Jake. His chest was broad and just as solid, and Jake wheezed, more blood spilling from his wound at the movement. The Shape was close, too close, and his mask was only an inch away from Jake’s face, and Jake let out a small, pained groan, the sound crackling and dying off at the edges. The knife was still pressed against his throat, almost testing and teasing. Something was wrong. He- he was scared- And then the Shape pressed his mask into Jake’s neck. The cold latex was a terrible contrast, and Jake’s head was swimming, but not enough that he wasn’t terrified now. He tried to struggle and push away, but then Myers just forced himself closer, until there wasn’t even any room to breath. He let go of Jake, but it didn’t matter, and a moment later the hand grabbed a fistful of Jake’s hair and held Jake’s face down until it was being smothered by the Shape’s shoulder. The smell was old blood and something else, overpowering, making Jake’s head swim as he struggled. Jake couldn’t even cry out- he tried, he pushed his hands against the torso and he tried to scream or yell or anything, but it was all silent, the sounds muffled and stolen by fabric. “N-” The knife was gone, and for a second Jake was almost thankful, until the Shape’s hand set itself on the other side of Jake’s neck. Slowly, the Killer dragged his hand down, and Jake thrashed at the contact, but then Myers trailed his hand under the fabric of Jake’s hoodie, at the shoulder, rubbing the skin, and Jake was going to be sick, he was going to die. Between the stifling smell of masculinity, and the blood, and he couldn’t breathe, Jake felt like he was drowning. And then, because he wasn’t satisfied yet, the Shape moved his knee between Jake’s legs- oh god- and Jake’s muffled cries became more hoarse, more desperate and frantic, as Myers’ breathing became more strained and heavy, in contrast, as if this was just turning him on and Jake managed a weak cry at that. “Stop-“ Jake attempted. The sound was garbled and pleading, and the Shape inhaled deeply- and stopped. His hand didn’t go any further and Jake was trembling and-“Jake!” The sound of a fuse. Sparks. A smoking sound, and then- An explosion erupted behind the Shape. It was fireworks in the darkness, and as the Shape suddenly leaned back, Jake could see Quentin poised at the pallet, fearless and terrified. The Shape, without any ceremony, pulled away, and Jake dropped to the ground. He backpedaled into a corner, and held his arms over his chest, legs pulled upwards and breath coming in quick bursts. Myers didn’t even bother looking at Quentin, he just stared at Jake, and his knife was still in his hand- raised up- and this was it. Jake squeezed his eyes shut. And then the Shape walked away, leaving Jake in a pile in the dirt, bleeding and scared. A beat of silence. Two. He could hear Quentin being chased, a generator finishing up in the distance, and yet- Jake knew that this wouldn’t be the end. He knew, in a terrible part of his heart, that the Shape wasn’t done with him yet.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Time passed. Trials passed, and Jake wanted to say that it was fine, but it wasn’t. It never was. It wasn’t fine, that he was dreading each Trial more than the last, that he felt relief when he heard the ghostly wails of the Spirit or saw the Legion sprinting at him. He didn’t tell any of his team what had happened. His already brief conversations became snippets, became nothing, and of all of them Quentin was the most worried. He’d seen the Shape, and he’d seen- he’d seen enough. Maybe it reminded him of something just as bad. But it was another Trial now. Another day. And it was fine, everything was as fine as it could be, and life continued on. But it wasn’t to last. Jake was injured. Jake was dying. Jake was running, he was sprinting, he was running for his life and he was terrified beyond anything he’d ever felt before. Blood in his eyes, in his lungs, claws closing around his throat in the utter darkness. And Jake kept running. His feet pounded into the dirt, his breathing ragged and torn to pieces, condensing in the air and disappearing into mist. The Shape had found them. But it wasn’t like before, where they might have stood a chance. No, this time, he was nothing if not brutally efficient. First, it was Dwight, then Tapp and then Feng until it was just Jake left. He’d been too slow, he’d ran the corner only to see Feng’s life drain from her eyes and the Shape turn his deadly gaze. And there was no one left, it was just them- As if Michael Myers had saved the best for last. Jake was searching for the hatch. What else could he do? He’d never be able to lose the Shape, but he couldn’t outrun him either. He was trying. He was trying, but each step was only getting slower, each pained groan quieter, the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his ears. There was a bruise on Jake’s throat that only promised violence. And Jake kept running. The Entity must have felt bad for him, because there, in the distance- he could see the hatch. Open and waiting, the shadows seeming to glow, beckoning, and Jake didn’t feel sick at the sight of the for once, just terribly, impossibly relieved. He just had to get a little closer. Jake vaulted the window, and feigned to the left, then the right, and finally he dug his heel into the dirt and put on a burst of speed to try and make it the last stretch of distance. He was so close that he could hear the hum now, and he wanted to cry in relief. And he was too slow. A sudden, sharp, deadly pain sliced across Jake’s back. He screamed, but it didn’t matter, as he tumbled to the ground with a dull thud, like a puppet with its strings cut. There was a dying gasp, almost like betrayal, to see the hatch so close. Jake’s hand reached out- he was so close!- and then fell down, dug into the dirt. As though that were the most of his concerns.
The Shape, it seemed, hadn’t forgotten about Jake. And he was eager to continue where he’d left off- without interruptions. “N-No!” Jake yelled, petrified, trying to crawl away, hoping that maybe it would work again, that the Killer would have mercy and stop. But Myers wasn’t having any of that. He had hunted Jake down, and now they could finally have the time alone. With a grim efficiency and terrible finality, he dropped to the ground, slamming the knife into the dirt beside Jake’s face, and then putting his full weight into keeping Jake down. Both of his legs were planted on either side of Jake, and the boy gave one last desperate struggle, trying to shove the Killer away, push him off, shield his chest, anything. But it didn’t work. It didn’t matter. Myers grabbed Jake’s hands in a single grip, holding the wrists so tightly they nearly instantly began to bruise, and then forcing the arms up and back, pinned to the ground. Jake continued to thrash. “No- let me go! Let me go!” Jake screamed, but maybe it was begging, because all his friends were dead and no one was going to save him this time. Maybe there were tears stinging his eyes. The Shape’s breathing was labored, as if he’d just run a marathon. And he still had one hand free. Jake felt his body freeze and seize up as Myers set the hand down- on Jake’s chest. No, no. And the Killer was taking it slow, like he was enjoying this torture, sliding the hand under Jake’s hoodie and letting it linger on the bare flesh. His hands were calloused, and slightly cold, making Jake try to arch his back to get away as the hand dragged itself upwards. “Please-” but there wasn’t really any point to begging. If anything, the sound of his voice made Myers more interested, and Jake just wanted this to be over. He was going to be sick, but even worse was that a part of him was- was enjoying this. This attention. His skin tingled with disgust and that pathetic part that was longing. Suddenly, Michael leaned down, until his mask was touching Jake’s face. Jake could see his eyes in the darkness, for a split second, before Myers pulled away and there was a muffled noise, and then he was back and- and half the mask was pulled up. His chin was dusted with stubble, he had dry looking lips, and Jake was as confused as he was terrified now. The terror quickly outweighed the confusion as an intrusive thought whispered, ‘oh, he’s hot’ and the Killer leaned down again. Nose to nose. Jake thrashed with renewed vigor, already knowing where this was going and desperate to be anywhere else, and he pressed his own mouth into a thin line, as if that would stop anything. Michael’s lips locked with Jake’s. There was another brief struggle, as Jake tried to resist, but Michael eventually forced his lips open with a tongue. Jake’s entire body jolted, going rigid and then he was trying to push into the dirt, trying to get away, only succeeding in pressing himself in Myers and rubbing their pelvis’ together. Michael’s tongue was probing and unpleasant and, Jake smothered the whine from his throat because he wasn’t sure if it was pleased or pained but he wouldn’t let it out no matter what. He bucked his hips again, and then was suddenly aware of one terrible thing: he was hard. And Michael seemed to notice this too. Because he pulled away, and leaned back a little, and there it was, there was Jake’s dick, making a tent in his pants and- And this was not happening. Jake shoved the Killer off, taking the opportunity to shove Michael off balance and break his grip. It worked- it worked!- and Jake was scrambling away, his breath raging in his chest, hands digging into the soil as he pulled forward. He was halfway in the hatch when he finally looked back. And the Shape was just… staring at him. Watching him go. Letting him escape. Jake wasn’t sure what to feel at that, and he didn’t want to stay to find out. He… he was leaving. He tore his gaze back, and then jumped the rest of the way out. And he specifically didn’t think about how good any of that had felt, as he let the darkness consume him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Life… went on. And on. Time and Trials passed, and if Jake was a little more scared than before, than no one noticed. Quentin kept his concerned glances quiet. The Entity didn’t torment Jake any more than usual. Trials and Trials until finally Jake felt like he was going to scream, because nothing made sense and he couldn’t even think. Some Trials, Myers didn’t want anything to do with him. It was as if they’d never met before. Others, Myers would get close, he’d run his hand down Jake’s spine and he’d touch Jake’s face and Jake- Jake wasn’t sure which one he wanted. He wasn’t sure if he’d just prefer being murder to whatever this was, if he’d rather a knife in his side or teeth on his neck. It made him want to scream. And today was another Trial. The Shape, again, and this time it wasn’t a simple grudge. This time, it was slow, it was all Jake’s friends being picked off, until it was just the two of them. Just the Fog and the sound of heavy breathing, and Jake still backing into a corner, still stuck between running and staying and yelling until his throat was hoarse. Michael didn’t have any such troubles. He just kept stepping forward, as calm as ever, like he hadn’t just killed Jake’s friends- like Jake hadn’t watched Quentin use his dying breath to tell Jake to run, run. There was still blood splattered across the latex mask. Maybe it was Quentin’s blood. Maybe it was David’s. Jake held a fistful of his hoodie, until his back was pressed against the wall, and finally- Something snapped. “Lea- leave me alone!” Jake demanded, and then he shoved past Myers, ducking and dodging a surprised strike. And then Jake was running again, realizing that he’d just denied a Killer. Like he had a choice here. Like the Shape couldn’t just take what he wanted, whether Jake wanted to or not. So Jake ran, and he funneled all of his conflict and doubt and rage into a single feeling, and prayed. On the right, something he’d never seen before. It was… it was a missing space in the wall that surrounded the Trial location. Wispy, intangible fog solidified there, making a kind of wall, light and beckoning in the darkness. Jake inhaled sharply and then dove for it. Wherever it went, it had to be better than here. Anywhere but here. Jake wasn’t certain if the Shape was following him, but he didn’t care. He pressed onwards, pushing through the bank of mist, his arms in front of himself as he tried to see where he was going. And then- A step. Nothing underneath his foot, just emptiness, and so Jake fell. Like falling from the sky, he was ejected from wherever he was, dropped into darkness and slammed into the ground. Enough that Jake wheezed and clutched his side, letting the pain ebb away, before he even attempted to glance up. And, as always, it was a realm wreathed in shadow. But something seemed different here. Wrong. An itch at the back of his neck, as he tried to piece together where he was, and then it hit him: there was no wall. It was just an endless, infinite town. Jake stood on shaky legs, glancing around. It was empty and abandoned, cobbled together by the Entity, and Jake had the growing feeling that he did not belong here. He was an intruder on someone’s home. But still, Jake tentatively began to walk forwards, glancing around with each step, one hand clutching his side. It was only after a few minutes of walking, of discomfort growing, that Jake stopped and realized where he was, a preschool looming over him. He was… he was in Freddy’s realm. Whatever the name of this town was. He was here. And now, he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. Quentin’s stories suddenly sprang to mind, making themselves known, as Jake took shelter beside a tree to try and make a plan. That Freddy wasn’t just bad, he was monstrous. It was one thing to have caused a mining collapse, or murder your parents. Freddy was in a different category entirely. That Freddy- Jake’s mouth twisted, and he gripped the tree tighter. He looked around again, but his surroundings were the same as before. An endless town. The things in the distance were less solidified, Jake noted, as if the Entity had only made what it knew would impress the Killer. There were no generators, there were no exit gate, just that vastness, sprawling and yet empty. Panic pricked Jake’s heart, cinching his neck like a noose, but he forced himself to remain calm. He’d gotten in here, so he could get out. And then he’d go back to the campfire and pretend that nothing had happened, just like he always did. In lacking anything else, Jake inhaled a shuddering breath, stepped away from the tree and into the preschool. Maybe, maybe the basement would have clues. The Entity’s basement. He could try and exit through there- maybe everything would reset itself, and the town would become a normal Trial, with an exit. It wasn’t a good plan, but right now, Jake had to take it and hope it would be enough. And so, with fear in his heart, Jake walked down into the basement of the preschool. The concrete was cold and unwelcoming, the pipes occasionally releasing bursts of steam, but as Jake made a circuit of the underground, he saw no signs of the Entity’s imposed basement. And, of course there wouldn’t be one when there wasn’t exit gates or generators. Of course. But Jake had hoped that-... he’d just hoped. And he’d been wrong. But the itch on the back of his neck was still there, still pressing- worse than before, actually. Worse than anything with Michael. This one felt… dangerous. Like he wasn’t prey, but something worse. A toy. Jake shuddered. He’d stay in the basement for a little while longer, wait for the feeling to pass before he went back into the town. Jake veered to the right as he came across the stairs, instead entering the basement’s side room. It was nearly the same as it always was, the mattress in the corner, the nightstand- The hole in the wall. Jake froze. Slowly, painfully slow, he began to walk towards the hole in the wall. Quentin’s words whispered at the back of his mind, incessant, ‘this is where he-’ and Jake felt bile in his throat again, as he crouched down, peeking through. It was too dark to make anything out. It was just the right size for a person to step through, however, and something compelled Jake to enter. To step right in. More than some simple curiosity, something pressing against his skull. Jake was halfway into the room before he noticed what was happening. Jake grabbed the wall, forcing his eyes open, something strangling his throat. No- no, no. The room- the room suddenly felt small. Light. It felt like sandpaper on his eyes, like weights dragging him down, like he was drowning in clouds- the room was making him tired. He was falling asleep. –He was falling asleep. Flickers in his vision. The illusion of feathers, of grey, of a faint and terrible laugh and claws coming closer- Jake forced himself out of the room, using whatever strength he could grasp onto to escape and then it was like a breath of fresh air entered his lungs, and he was gasping, terrified. His eyes darted around, but- but there was no grey. No feathers. No telltale signs that he had fallen asleep. The world looked the same as ever, and Jake gave a shaky, horrified smile that he’d managed to make it out just in time.
But then. Something light, on his head. Jake blinked, reached up to grab it-And pulled down a single, black feather.The air left his lungs, his eyes going wide, his mouth open without making any noise. Too scared to make a single sound. “Hey,” Freddy Krueger whispered. Jake didn’t waste a moment as he ran. He took the steps in pairs of two, then three, and then he was scrambling around the corner for the exit- And the exit wasn’t there, because he was still in the basement. So Jake yanked himself to the right, towards the boiler room exit, and he sprinted past a section of pipes that seemed to suddenly stretch on to infinity. Jake ran, but he didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere at all. Like he was helpless. Just like a nightmare. The hissing, screeching sound of metal rubbing against metal, and Freddy spoke again, “Nice hickey,” Jake’s hand slammed up to cover his neck, but it didn’t matter, Freddy just kept speaking, “You got someone to go home to?” Freddy was in the pipes. Steam ruptured outwards, and Jake shoved his arms up to block it, feeling it burn his skin and his voice leaving his mouth in a scream. But as he stepped back, to try and get away, there was another laugh, deep, and then Freddy’s clawed hand slashed outwards from the mist, cutting directly across Jake’s torso.The pain was electric, and it was even more awful than before. Like every cell in his body was feeling it. Jake didn’t realize he was screaming until he bit down on his hand, and cut off the sound, and then he was running again. Freddy just kept laughing. Jake tried to remember what Quentin had said- how had his stories gone, how had he woken up against Freddy, how, how. But everything was a jumbled mess, and Jake just kept running, until he finally managed to bound up the stairs and get into the preschool’s hallway- Oh god. It was a dead end. There were no exits, and as Jake turned around to try and double back, there were no stairs. Jake wasn’t sure if he was crying, if he was shaking, from the blood or from fear and anger and tears. And as if from nothing, the Nightmare stepped from the wall where the stairs should have been. His burnt face smiled, and the sight simultaneously filled Jake with impossible rage and incredible terror. “Hey…” Freddy drawled, taking his time, walking leisurely towards Jake. Jake tried to back away, but suddenly he was at the end of the corridor, and Freddy just kept talking, “You remind me of a boy I once liked.” He was close enough for Jake to smell burnt ozone, ashes and ashes and screams, and then Freddy stopped, raising his clawed hand up to push his hat upwards slightly, just for Jake to see his eyes, “You’re a little too old for me, but I think you’re still my type.” And Freddy came closer, and closer, and closer, and Jake screamed so hard that-His eyes snapped open.Jake was wide eyed, his pupils small, and his breath frantic. He quickly recognized the room- the room. And, like a shot, Jake was up, one arm across his torso to try and stop the bleeding. He was running. He was awake, he was alive, he was going to die. He wasn’t sure how he managed to wake up against Freddy. He also wasn’t going to try and question it. Instead, he ignored that feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and took the stairs two at a time, until he was on the ground floor again, tile underfoot. The preschool was too cheery. It was too bright and happy in here, for- and Jake wanted to be sick again, as he remembered, and he channeled those feelings to force himself to keep running. What would Quentin do? Jake drunkenly stumbled against a wall, nearly sliding over, trying to think. A glint of shattered glass caught his eyes. And then- ”You can try and use pain to keep yourself awake. But not for long-” and the rest of it was lost to memory. That was enough. Jake snatched up a shard of glass, feeling it cut into his palm, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He was bleeding, he was crying, he was going to die and if he didn’t then he was going to kill Freddy with his bare hands. A flicker of exhaustion pressed against Jake’s mind, and there was no time like the present, he decided, unceremoniously digging the glass into his arm like a blind surgeon, muffling his cry of pain with his sleeve. And the effect was instantaneous- he felt awake. Adrenaline flooded him, and Jake just kept running. He was outside. The air wasn’t fresh, but it felt like it was, not the stifling air of the basement or the dead air of the preschool. There was a roiling fog that had set upon the town, and Jake ran into it, hoping that this could help him lose Freddy. That maybe it could help him escape. As Jake ran, in the distance… Jake squinted, then his eyes were open wide, the shape familiar in a way that made him feel terrible and relieved, “Mi-” And then he was falling. The world seemed to spin around and around, a deadly spinning top and as Jake struggled to orientate himself, there was that wispy feeling again. No, he couldn’t fall asleep, not again- But the glass was gone. The glass was gone, and Jake’s mouth was dry, blood dripping down his side and seeping from his arm, and that shape wasn’t Michael, it was Freddy. Jake tried to dig his nails into his arm, something, anything, but Freddy simply smiled. “That shit don’t work anymore, sweetheart.” All at once, Jake felt the terror that had been hounding him finally roar to the forefront, making his eyes swim and his hands shake and every nightmare he’d ever had make itself known. Buried deep in with those emotions was one single, shining instance of despair. And it made itself known, as Jake croaked: “Michael- Michael!-” Jake wanted to say, ‘I’ve changed my mind’, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Instead, he held his arms up, as Freddy got closer, and Jake’s face was torn between a snarl and fear, “No-” like begging would change anything. The scene began to flash and change rapidly, almost dizzyingly, the grey returning to color and the air becoming heavy and Freddy flickering in and out and in and out, getting closer with each flash, until he was dragging a clawed finger down Jake’s face, and there was the blood, and-A searing pain. Jake opened his eyes, the scream caught in his throat- there was a knife in his leg. And Michael Myers was staring at him. He’d just stabbed Jake in the leg. Before Jake could say anything at all, Myers yanked the knife out, and Jake threw his head back, the slice on his face bleeding onto the ground. Everything felt insubstantial, and yet too heavy.“Run-” Jake struggled to stand, and collapsed back onto the ground, “We need- he’s here-” and then Jake’s eyes closed, and Freddy was there, and Jake reopened his eyes and wanted to scream. Michael didn’t waste any time, just grabbed Jake, held him close, and ran. The world flickered again. Jake tried to keep his eyes open, he tried, but then a blink and it was all grey again. Freddy was standing, far too close, staring directly at Jake.“Michaely Myers,” Freddy tilted his head, and Jake was suddenly aware that he couldn’t breathe. That something was stopping him from breathing. Freddy looked unhappy, “I hate that guy,” and that something around Jake’s throat squeezed. More flashes, and he was staring at Michael’s mask and then back to Freddy. Freddy leaned in. Jake wanted to run away, and he wanted to fight, but he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t move, and Freddy put a hand on the small of Jake’s back and he whispered in Jake’s ear:“Guess you and I just weren’t meant to be.” And without warning, he stabbed his clawed hand directly through Jake. Like an embrace. Jake’s eyes were open then, and the dream fell apart, the real world returning as he convulsed in Michael’s arms. There was blood spilling from his gut, onto the ground, from his mouth and pain, pain, pain-Michael had stopped running. He still held Jake in his arms, but then he was crouched on the ground, arms still holding Jake, and there was blood spilling onto his coveralls and onto the ground and Jake was making a frantic choking noise, a horrible sound, blood in his lungs and he was dying, he was drowning, and it was awful. It was always- it was always awful. He’s cold, and it’s getting dark, and he’s always so alone, so so alone, so scared and everything hurts and it hurts and-Michael leaned down. His mask was gone, and he pressed his forehead to Jake’s and squeezed Jake close, and they both stayed just like that until Jake convulsed one final time and died.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Michael Myers stared down at the body held in his arms, pulling back slightly. Jake stared back, unblinking, unmoving; dead. The silence seemed unfair. With more care then he was used to, Michael gently laid Jake onto the ground, setting him down lightly and, after a moment of hesitation, reached up to close the boy’s eyes. Like Michael could remember someone doing once, long ago. His hand lingered on Jake’s lips, but then pulled back, instead resting on the grass. A slight wind blew Michael’s hair. And he frowned. The piercing wound in Jake’s torso still bled lazily, as Michael leaned back, sliding on his latex mask, yanking his knife from the ground. Jake was dead. That wasn’t anything new, or unusual, but it made Michael… upset now. Maybe it was how Jake had died. Or maybe it was because Michael hadn’t been the one to kill him. Four precisely placed stab wounds, and Michael stood up, looking blankly at them. Jake belonged to him. No one else. No other Killer. And Michael hadn’t been strong enough, or fast enough, and Jake had still died. The frown returned, intensified on Michael’s face, and he glanced around into the fog, letting the unfamiliar bitter feeling fill his heart. There was silence, but there was always silence, in this place. Wherever they were. He didn’t look back at Jake’s body as he stepped into the Fog. Michael walked forward. The mist, thin at first, began to thicken. Solidifying. The buildings in the distance had disappeared, and the trees nearby, until there was nothing but white and grey stretched out forever. Michael kept walking. He could feel something pressing against his mind, some curiosity, and he snapped at it. It disappeared. And for however long, it remained gone, until it returned just for a moment, and the fogbank broke. Michael was in a town. Everything was desaturated, grey. There were black feathers above. So Michael stopped, and waited for a moment, letting menace radiate through his posture and flood the town. He was hunting. And he had a plan- maybe not a good plan, but it was full of revenge and anger, and that held it together enough that it could work. Myers didn’t have to wait for long. There was a sound not unlike muffled humming, and then from somewhere, who knew where, Freddy appeared. Strolling, casual, and he used his bloodied claw to push up his hat to look at Michael. That was Jake’s blood. “Didn’t see you there,” Freddy smiled, and he was keeping a cautious distance from Michael, but close enough to be annoying. Close enough that Michael could smell something like ashes, and fear, which was familiar in places but disturbingly foreign in others. It was like wet branches being crunched underfoot, bones gnashed by jaws, and Michael didn’t flinch- he never flinched- but he shifted his weight to his other foot. In many ways, the Nightmare was everything that could be bad made worse. An outcast, even among Killers. Michael tightened his grip on his knife, forever wordless. That made Freddy sigh. “Okay, listen. I get the feeling that you’re mad at me,” and then, without warning, Freddy was right beside Myers, resting the bloodied claw on his coveralls, before disappearing and reappearing only a few steps away. Michael glanced at the blood stain, and then returned to looking at Freddy. He was close, but not enough. Freddy shrugged. “I can’t imagine why,” a dry voice and a cracked smile. As he walked in a lazy circle, a few leaves blowing around his legs, he gestured vaguely behind himself. The scene shifted, building disappearing, replaced by one familiar. The preschool. And before even a moment had passed, a figure ran out, ethereal and wispy. Jake. “He was a lot of fun to play with, but,” and the scene followed Jake. Jake running through the Fog, shouting Michael’s name, being found. The dream version of Jake stopped in front of Michael, and for some reason, he was smiling. It lasted only a second, before it was replaced by fear, and the real Freddy stepped towards Jake. Replaying it. A hand on Jake’s back, a smile, and then- “Guess I broke him.” This was the part where the nightmare diverged. The blood, Freddy turning to Myers, the fog pressing down like a weight, and Michael simply- Reached forward. Grabbed Freddy by the throat. And the world fell apart, right into pieces, the colors roaring back. Before Freddy could even realize what had happened, Michael stabbed forward. It connected. It always did. Freddy did realize what had happened, but no, too late. He couldn’t even do anything if he wanted to. Michael could feel the It in his mind, not unhappy, just curious, watching what was happening with something like glee. Freddy wasn’t even favored by Them. And soon, he stopped struggling around Michael’s knife. Just died. Just silence again, as Michael dropped the body onto the ground, it landing with a thud, blood trickling outwards. Michael stared. Freddy would come back; they always came back. Michael leaned down, hand reaching out and grabbing the hat from Freddy’s head. There was some blood on it. Michael turned it over, once, twice, before deciding to bring it to Jake. Abruptly then, he turned around, and without any sound he went back into the nothingness of the fog. Not even the crunch of leaves underfoot, or fabric shuffling. He knew that Jake’s body would be gone by now, returned to wherever he would be, but he still looked to the ground occasionally. As expected, there was nothing left. So Michael set off to find the boy, and wondered if Jake would be happy to see him later.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Senses returned to Jake in fragments. Sound came first, the vague noise of crows in the distance, wind blowing across the ground and through frail wooden walls. He blinked the world into focus, the Killer Shack coming into view, the tarp overhead, and he inhaled a shuddering breath and smelled the rotting wood and decaying leaves, pumpkins on the breeze. His mouth tasted dry, almost like cotton, and the floor was rough and harsh underneath his palms. There was a brief moment of struggle, where he pushed himself onto his hands and knees and then, to a shaky standing position, leaning heavily on the wall. There was a phantom pain in his chest still, and he looked down, as if expecting the exit wounds to still be there. There wasn’t anything. Not even a bloodstain. Only a vague ache, and that same awful feeling of coming back, again and again. But… but usually, he woke up at the campfire. Not here- wherever here was. Haddonfield, a glance said. The Killer Shack of Haddonfield. The floorboards creaked and groaned where he shifted, glancing down to the toolbox in the corner, then he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Silence. His own soft heartbeat. And then- The sound of the floorboards creaking. Jake’s eyes shot open, and he half pressed himself off the wall, fight or flight already flaring to life before he even registered who it was. He blinked again, and there, in the doorway, was the Shape. Michael Myers. The moonlight spilled in behind him, casting sharp shadows across the ground, and he seemed to loom in the darkness. Jake backed up despite himself, uncertain, and Michael took a step forward. In his hands, a battered and bloody fedora. Jake recoiled for a moment, but Myers just stood there, holding the fedora out, and then, unceremoniously dropping it. It landed with a silent noise. Jake realized that it was being presented to him. Like a trophy. Or, a part of him added, like a cat bringing in a dead mouse. “Did-” Jake looked at the hat again, “You killed him?” Michael didn’t reply. Just kept staring. The hat on the ground spoke for itself, blood splashed on one side. For some reason Jake couldn’t explain, the realization that Michael had killed Freddy for him- for revenge- and brought him the evidence… it made Jake feel warm. The phantom pain in his chest was still there, but lesser, and he looked back to Michael. And the Shape advanced. Jake’s back was still pressed against the wall, but he didn’t flinch as Michael stepped closer and closer, until they were chest to chest. The Killer loomed over Jake, but there was something else in the darkness of his eyes, in the way he looked down at the smaller man. He rose up his knife- and for a moment, Jake wondered if this would be it. But the stab never came. Instead, Jake felt the sensation of the blade lightly dragging along the edge of his jaw- and it was electric, fear and arousal mixing together. Michael’s breathing was heavy and warm on his neck, and then, suddenly, the knife was stabbed into the wall beside them. Both of Michael’s hands boxed Jake in, and then his masked face pressed against Jake’s neck, the cold latex making Jake gasp a little. The confused rush of adrenaline in his veins warred with the growing warmth in his gut, and his fingers dug into the wall as Myers pressed forward more, stealing the breath from his lungs. “I-” Jake croaked, head swimming from the sensations, and Michael took that as a sign to continue, bringing hands up to Jake’s chest and neck. His calloused fingers dragged along skin, cold from the outside air, raising goosebumps and making Jake’s muscles jump. There was a growing tent in his own pants that was becoming hard to ignore, and he wondered, for a moment, what he wanted. But then, the sound of shifting latex, and then- Teeth at Jake’s neck. Jake let out a surprised moan, hands reaching forward and grabbing fistfulls of the blue coveralls. Michael bit the sensitive flesh of Jake’s neck, rough and dominating, trailing them down to his shoulder. With each mark, Jake let out another choked gasp, bucking his hips forward in a desperate, almost delirious desire for more contact. And the Killer’s hands, rubbing Jake’s hips, pulling under the waistband of his pants. Michael smelled like decay and autumn and musk, and Jake inhaled with shuddering breaths, in sharp contrast to Michael’s own heavy breathing. Jake cried out at the feeling of teeth claiming him once more, and then, just as suddenly, Myers pulled away. Jake looked at him through swimming eyes, gaze pleading and chest heaving, and the moment felt electric. It was cloying and heavy, and when Michael pressed in again, Jake could feel the hard outline of his cock, pressing against Jake’s side. Jake looked up at Michael, half lidded gaze, and then, dropped to his knees with a thump. The bruises still on his knees cried out, but Jake fumbled with the zipper of Michael’s jumpsuit, and then another, until he was rewarded with the sight of Michael’s dick, erect and waiting. Jake gave one last look to Michael, seeing hungry eyes, before turning back to stiff member and opening his mouth. As he enveloped the cock, he heard Myers give a groan, and Jake pressed himself down as far as he could, taking it all in. His hands held fistfulls of Michael’s jeans, and then he pulled back to the tip, before plunging down again. Up, and down. At times, the cock pushed itself to the back of Jake’s throat, before Jake had to pull back to breathe. The wet sound, filling the room, and then, Michael’s hands at the back of Jake’s head, digging into his hair, directing him. Faster. Faster. Jake bobbed up and down, the feeling of the dick in his mouth, the warmth in his gut, his own dick straining against his pants, as he was roughly shoved up and down Michael’s length. Ever little muffled moan Jake gave seemed to encourage Michael more, from the groans Jake could hear above, the throbbing of his cock. Jake inhaled musk and sweat, the feeling of his throat protesting from the rough treatment, the edge of fear to ever moment he spent with Michael. Intoxicating. Saliva trickled down the side of Jake’s mouth, as Myers slammed him up and down, even faster, brutalizing his throat. Finally, Jake felt a throb in the member, felt Michael stiffen, then give a muffled sort of cry, ramming Jake all the way down to the hilt of his cock. A moment passed, with that burning sensation from lack of oxygen, before a great flood of come rushed out. Into Jake’s mouth, filling him, and down his throat in hot, sticky waves. Some of it, spilling out the sides of his mouth, dripping onto his chest. Jake swallowed almost all of it, and felt his lungs heave for air, and there was a moment of dull terror as darkness started to creep in along the edges of his vision, before Michael abruptly released, and Jake gasped for air, coughing. Still, he looked at Michael- waiting. Desire. Michael reached down. In a fast motion, Jake suddenly found himself on the floor, on his back, the wood digging into his skin, a gasp leaving him as Michael straddled him. The mask was still folded up, and Jake caught the sight of that dusty stubble, bruised lips, before Michael brought the knife up and out. Jake closed his eyes and shivered at the feeling of it dancing on the edge of his exposed skin, trailing down to his pants, almost teasing. Then, precise slashes, tearing the pants at the crotch, exposing Jake to the world. He shivered involuntarily at the rush of cold air, and Michael let the knife linger more, let it press ever so slightly into Jake’s skin, and Jake let out a warbled sounding keen- he wanted to arch his back, and a part of him wanted to feel that knife cut him ever so slightly, for Michael to mark him as his own even more. But, the knife was pulled away, and Michael leaned back, studying Jake. Watching. Jake shuddered, and there a vague, splintering moment of clarity, where he looked over to the toolbox, then grabbed in; yanking some kind of bottle from the side, then letting Michael take it. The label had long since worn away, but it was the lubricant they used when repairing generators. It would be better than nothing. Myers turned the bottle over once, then seemed to get the idea, opening it up and then rubbing the liquid on the length of his cock. Some of it still dripped from his fingers, which he brought forward, teasing along the edge of Jake’s hole. Jake gasped and cried out at the sensation, and his body twisted, as Michael toyed with him, just barely pushing a finger in and out. It felt like torture. Jake was a gasping, weak mess, and it felt like ages before Michael finally pulled his finger out. The man positioned himself, spreading Jake’s legs as wide as they could go, slightly raised off the ground, before pressing the tip of his cock against Jake’s entrance. Jake could see a small, teasing smile on Michael’s face, as Jake squirmed, waiting. “Please-” Jake begged, and that was all it took. Michael plunged forward. The sensation of nothingness, followed by the dick, filling him out. Jake arched his back and let out a sharp cry- Michael was only one third of the way in, but Jake felt almost like he could burst. Slowly, Michael pulled out again, before pressing in more, repeating, his hands planted either side of Jake. Until finally, he pulled out as much as he could, and slammed the entire way down, and Jake gave a genuine, almost guttural cry, a mixture of pain and pleasure, his breath short and clipped. Jake was filled. It was almost too much, a painful ache inside him, but that was overpowered by the desire, the need. The pace was rough. Almost animalistic, dancing on the edge of brutal, but with every stroke, it seemed to get faster. Myers pounded Jake’s ass with an almost obsession, in and out, the wet sounds of slapping filling the air, mixing with Jake’s cries and Michael’s groans. Half words tumbled from Jake’s mouth, “Please- please-” and he felt like he could burst, ragged whines escaping his throat. Michael pistoned back and forth, the feeling of empty and full, and then, his reached his hands up, pressing one ever so slightly against Jake’s throat. Jake’s back arched again, and his eyes went wide, a feeling almost like desperation, need. Myers pressed down more, his calloused hand digging into Jake’s throat, making every whimper come out raspier, crackling at the edges. That made everything feel almost unreal, the feeling of blood rushing through his veins, the cock slamming into him, Michael’s hands nearly crushing his neck. That razors edge of pain and pleasure, fear and lust, all clouding together, line the bite marks on his neck, the raised lines from the knife on his skin. Each thrusting stroke from Michael’s cock was claiming and dominating, possessive, and Michael’s eyes seemed to say, you’re mine. One powerful, harsh thrust, striking somewhere deep inside Jake, and a feeling like electricity, his hands curling into fists, and he cried out as much as he could, hands choking and warm bodies and desire. Jake felt his dick throb once, twice, and then another slamming thrust, and Jake was gasping and seeing stars, his cock releasing, the come falling over his chest and legs. At the sight of that, Michael let out his own strangled sounding noise, like a grunt and a groan together, and he pulled back again, before ramming his cock into Jake’s ass, just in time for his own torrent of come to flood out. It filled Jake’s insides, warm heat, and Jake gave dying cries at the sensation, the sensitivity making his body twitch as the come poured out of him, painting his inner thighs and the ground. His own vision, going dark, as Michael choked hard and fierce. Slowly, the rush of come stopped, and there was only heavy breathing, Michael removing his hands from Jake, vision returning. For a moment, they remained like that, Michael’s member in Jake’s ass, before the Killer removed it with a wet sound. Jake’s eyes were drooping, almost, the adrenaline gone from his system, replaced by a need for sleep, the glow of warmth surrounding him. He wondered if Michael would leave, but then the Shape simply laid down beside Jake and took the younger into his arms. Fierce. Protective. Possessive. Mine. Jake closed his eyes. As always, the darkness was comforting to him, and with the feeling of those arms caging around him, he slept.