Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mike Hanlon hated a lot of things and feared them just as much. He hated working in the slaughterhouse. He was scared to sleep after a long day of work and dreaming of the blood splattering. He hated being hunted down by Henry Bowers like one of the sheep he was meant to kill. He feared being caught by Henry and his gang, and needed to endure whatever torture they had planned. He hated the smell of smoke and was terrified of fire because of his parents dying so violently in the fire that took their lives. He also hated living in Derry, Maine. He feared the small town that was meant to be home. That was meant to be safe, yet was the cause of all his fears and hate.

But even still, he never saw himself leaving the little racist town, as sad as it was to say. He couldn't picture any place being any better. So what did it matter if he stayed or left? He looks at his homework in the dim light of his lamp. His school work had once again been pushed off until late at night because of working at the slaughterhouse. He wished he could go to school and be a normal kid. Instead, he was stuck in a constant loop of home, work, home, work. He wasn't a kid but an adult in a child's body.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and slowly exhales. He opens his eyes only when he feels a hand touch his shoulder. The tension leaves his body. He leans back in his chair and into the hand touching his shoulder. He sighs shakily. Let his arms drop to his sides limply. He doesn't move as his other shoulder is touched. Two large hands holding him, slowly starting to massage the knots in his shoulders and neck. He glances from the corner of his eye at the tips of the white gloved fingers he could see.

Mike had decided long ago that there was no such thing as god. How could there be a god when he held so much hate and fear and despair in his heart? When the only good thing to ever find him was the most terrifying creature he knew to walk the earth. He didn't know if he had chosen to let the creature in when it first found him, a strange twist of misfortune, or maybe fate. He didn't know if it mattered anymore, either. He had been so lonely before the creature found him—so completely and utterly lonely. He hated being lonely. He feared what would happen if he spent his whole life alone, stuck in Derry.

"Homework again at this time of night?" the creature behind him says. Its tone is an odd mix of giddy and sorrowful. Mike isn't sure. He was never sure when it came to the creature.

"If I don't get it done, Grandpa will be mad. He says I've got to have half a brain at least," Mike says. He closes his eyes before tipping his head back. He opens his eyes after a long moment. He looks up at the creature. The demon, the clown? Mike wasn't sure what it really was under the white skin. But it didn't matter what it was. It filled the void of loneliness he felt.

Mike flinches when the creature's hand lifts from his shoulder to run a long gash on his forehead. He winces as the rough texture of the creature's glove runs none too kindly along the tender edge of the wound. The creature's other hand is slipping to the front of his chest.

"What happened?" The creature asks, pressing against the center of the gash with its thumb. Mike grunts, feeling the delicate scab give way, allowing blood to pool on the surface.

"Bowers gang," Mike mutters, still looking at the creature upside down.

"You know you could easily take care of them little punk, " the creature rumbles. Mike looks away. He glances to the window, the dark night sky holding no light from the moon or stars—it was only black. It would be so easy for you to sneak out a bolt gun from the slaughterhouse, " the creature purrs. Mike frowns.

"I don't even like using that thing on the sheep... I don't think I could use it on a person. Even someone like Bowers." Mike whispers, hisses as the creature's thumb suddenly slides against the gash on his forehead, pulling the scab off completely.

"You just need to get angry enough to do it." The creature whispers.

"It took me an hour to get that to stop bleeding," Mike says, ignoring the creature's comment outwardly, but internally, it made him feel lightheaded. He looks back at the beast as its hand covers the deep gash with its palm. The creature hums, feeling Mike's warm blood soak into its glove, warming its skin underneath.

"How did it happen?" The creature asks, its hand smoothing the front of Mike's shirt. Its fingers stop to play with the top button of his button-down shirt.

"Hockstetter," Mike mutters. "He jumped me when I was leaving the slaughterhouse. Bashed my head against the side of the building before the rest of them showed up." Mike hums as he feels the creature undo the first button of his shirt.

"You need to be stronger." The clown murmurs, leaning down. It soothes its hand back from Mike's forehead, smearing the blood from the gash up his forehead, as its hand goes into his short, tight curls.

"There are four of them." Mike pouts as the creature's red lips press against his cheek. He winces when suddenly the tongue of the demon presses against the gash, licking across it, making it sting. He hisses as he feels the deep wound start to heal.

"There could be three, " it whispers. "Then two, " it whispers, moving from Mike's forehead to his ear.

"Then one," Mike whispers, with a sigh.

"Then none." The creature purrs as its fingers open Mike's shirt's second and third buttons before slipping under the fabric.

"But..." Mike whispers, his eyes closing as the creature's hand caresses his chest.

"But?" It asks its lips trailing to Mike's neck.

"....I would have to get them alone," Mike whispers. "They are never alone," Mike says, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "They aren't like me." He says.

"You could manage, " the creature says, pulling back from Mike to look down at him. "We could manage, " it offers. Mike blinks several times before his eyes go wide.

"Would you... Really help me?" Mike asks, and he feels a trickle of blood slide down his forehead into his hairline.

"Of course." The creature's tone is beyond giddy and excited as it looks down at Mike. It slides its hand up the boy's chest to wrap around his neck loosely. " I can't have my favorite boy continue to be hurt, " it says.

Mike feels his mind swim and spin at the idea. Not having Bowers' gang around would be nice. Mike knew he couldn't do it alone. Knew he wasn't strong enough on his own. But if the creature helped. If the beast were by his side. If the only thing in the world that seemed to care about him was there, he could maybe be strong enough. He maybe could be angry enough to do it. To take them out.

"....Maybe," Mike whispers, as the creature's hand travels from Mike's neck down to his shoulder and to his arm.

"Come here." The clown says.

Mike doesn't hesitate. He takes the clown's hand and lets it lead him to his bed. He watches the large creature sit on his bed. Without being told, he stands between the creature's spread legs. He reaches out, wrapping his arms around the creature's neck. As it holds him close around his waist with one arm, it moves to finish unbuttoning Mike's shirt with its free hand.

When the creature has finished undoing all the buttons, it pushes Mike's shirt open. It then moves the shirt off Mike's shoulders, letting it slip from the boy's arms and fall to the ground. Mike inhales deeply as the creature's hand moves back to his chest, fingertips softly trailing down the center of his chest to his stomach. Mike can't help but lean into the creature's touch. He felt so touch starved. He felt unloved and constantly pushed into situations where he didn't want to be put. Being bullied by the Bowers gang, working at the slaughterhouse, and being homeschooled to keep him from having any social interaction.

"What did you do today?" Mike asks, looking at the creature. He knows he should feel fear, run, and never let the beast get close.

"The usual, " the creature says simply. It looks at Mike, its yellow eyes gleaming in the dark room.

"Can I ask you something?" Mike asks slowly. His heart beats spikes slightly. He bites his lower lip. He has pondered what he wants to ask for days now, maybe even weeks. He isn't sure. He had tried to ask before, even when he first met the creature. But he is never able to bring himself to say the words.

"Are we on this again?" the clown asks, followed by a deep chuckle. "You may ask whatever you want, " it says, tugging Mike closer.

Mike's mind goes blank for a moment. He takes a sharp breath that catches in his throat. He closes his eyes at how close he is to the demon and how warm they feel against his bare chest. He tangles his fingers into the clown's wirey hair. He licks his lips, his mouth feeling dry. He slowly opens his eyes, locking them with the beast's yellow eyes.

"Are you the reason for all of the missing kid posters?" Mike manages to breathe out. He watches as a wide, spread grin splits the creature's lips. The yellow pointed teeth still fascinate Mike in some odd way.

"What do you think?" The creature asks. A hand moves to touch the back of Mike's neck.

"....Yes," Mike says as he's gently tugged forward.

"So why ask?" The creature asks, leaning forward.

"Because..." Mike starts but stops. "What do you do to them?" Mike asks, a cold sweat breaking out over him.

"I eat them." The beast whispers with a giggle in its tone.

"Are you..." Mike starts leaning slightly closer to the beast. "Going to eat me?" He asks as the hand on the back of his neck tightens.

"Oh no, you're too special, " the beast says. Mike doesn't realize he tightens his hold on the demon's hair at these words. His eyes close as he sighs.

"Am I really, though?" Mike asks, opening his eyes again slowly.

"Absolutely, sweet Mikey." The creature's voice drops a note. Mike leans forward, closing the space between him and the clown. He presses his lips against the monster's lips. The demon pulls him closer, smoothing its large hand up his back and down again. Mike pulls back, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling.

"Help me get rid of them." Mike breathes out. "All of them." Mike keeps his eyes on the red lips of the demon.

"That's my boy," the clown says, grinning widely. "Once we finish that, you can come with me." It pushes back further up the bed, leading Mike onto the bed with it. The demon lies down on the bed, which is too small to fit properly. Mike lies down atop the demon as it softly pets his hair. "We'll start tomorrow, " it purrs. Mike only nods before falling asleep to the demon's heartbeat, dreaming of blood and freedom.

Chapter Text

The demon hadn't lied. The next night, it came to Mike as it did almost every night. Mike looked at the large creature whose shadow felt like it was swallowing him whole. He moved over to the beast and couldn't help but wrap his arms around the demon. He sighs contentedly as the demon holds him back. He looks up at the grinning beast, his stomach doing flips.

"What do I need to do?" Mike asks as a large hand caresses his cheek.

"Let's start with, who do you want to confront first?" The demon asks. Mike blinks at this. He hadn't thought about who to start with. He looks down at the ground. He thinks about it for a long moment. Who did he want to begin with? He swallows thickly before looking back up at the demon.

"Belch Huggins...?" Mike says, but even to his ears, it's too uncertain to questioning, to scared.

"You sound uncertain." The clown hums, soothing its thumb over Mike's cheekbone.

"No, no, I'm certain," Mike says, a dark determination seeping into his dark brown eyes.

"Better!" The demon says, all too giddy.

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Mike stood shaking, standing above Belch's bloody and welt-covered body. Mike's eyes are wide, his pupils blown. He couldn't hear anything other than his blood rushing in his ears and the intense buzzing sound. He gasps, dropping the bloody pipe from his hand when he's pulled back. He swallows thickly, tilting his head back, looking at the demon that grins down at him. One of the monster's hand wrapped around his throat, keeping his head in place. Mike only then realizes the ridiculous amounts of wasps flying around him and the beast, still, the source of the buzzing.

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The second night, Mike decided on Victor Criss. He had never seen him so scared. He watched fascinated as the clown shifted into the form of Frankenstein's monster. Watched as Vic tried desperately to run away right after the left half of his face is disfigured by the creature. When Vic was chased to him, he fell to his knees. He looked behind him, terrified, before looking back at him and begging him for help. Mike stared at him, recounting every time he must have looked the same way. Terrified because of Vic and the others. He only hesitates for a moment before picking up the large rock above his head and swinging it down onto Vic's head. He falls to his knees and continues to hit Vic repeatedly over and over again. He doesn't stop until he's breathing heavy and Vic's face is completely unrecognizable. He only stops when he hears the laughter of the demon. He looks up, seeing it standing in the night shadows of the trees, its eyes glowing like a predator.

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On the third night, Mike waits for the creature to come to him as normal. He lies on his bed, tossing his baseball and catching it before throwing it back up and repeating. He sits up when he feels the clown form in his bedroom like some apparition. Mike sits up, carefully setting the baseball on his nightstand so it doesn't roll off. He looks up, watching the creature as it walks over to stand before him.

"Are we going now?" Mike asks as the demon crotches down in front of him.

"Not tonight, " the creature says, touching Mike's cheek. Mike tilts his head curiously, leaning into the creature's hand.

"Not tonight?" He asks.

"You've done so well the last two nights. You've earned a break." The creature explains. It moves its free hand to Mike's thigh, sliding up.

Mike feels his face heat up. He looks down at the demon's hand. He feels his heart rate pick up a notch. He licks his lips, looking back at the demon.

"Did I really do well?" Mike asks. He watches a smile curve the demon's lips.

"Oh yes, so very well, " the clown says. "I couldn't be more proud of you, " it whispers.

"Promise?" Mike whispers, leaning forward as the creature's hand slides to the inside of his thigh.

"Promise, Mikey." The creature breathes out.

Mike shivers when the creature's palm presses against his crotch. He inhales deeply. He fidgets slightly, gripping the edge of his mattress. But he doesn't move back. He doesn't try to hide. As much as it was odd to have the demon clown touch him in such ways, he had grown used to it.

"Ah," Mike lets out a soft sound as the creature's palm rubs against his crotch making his cock twitch and start to fill with blood.

Mike falls into the feeling of the demon touching him. Slowly losing himself as the demon's right hand to the back of his neck. Its other hand slipping into his sleep pants. He can't help but rock into the feeling as the demon strokes his cock bring it to life.

Mike pants softly, leaning forward. He whimpers softly, wrapping his arms around the demon clown. He buries his face against the demon's chest. His hips rocking as the demon whispers praises that set his blood on fire.

Mike shakes as he feels his orgasm rush through him. The intense high draining his body of energy. He slumps against the clown. He pants heavily. He feels the warmth of his cum start to cool against his skin. He doesn't try to fight when the demon easily moves him into his bed. His eyes flutter as the demon covers him before fading from sight, as if melting into the darkness enveloping the room.

Mike falls asleep shortly after, too tired to fight the need to sleep. He hadn't realized how much the last two nights had taken out of him until that moment as he allowed himself to be lulled into sleep.

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Mike took his baseball bat out with him the next night. Picking to take out Patrick Hockstetter had been an easy choice. More so because Mike had decided after Belch that Bowers would be last. Mike had been surprised to learn that Patrick was scared of zombies. He couldn't place it at first as to why. It was only later, when he was lying in bed covered in blood, held by the creature, that he decided it was because it seemed like such a childish fear. Not that Vic's was much better, being scared of Frankenstein's monster. For only a moment, it made him remember that they were kids, just like him; they were just meaner. He fell asleep looking at his baseball bat leaning in the corner of the room, the blood shining in the moonlight as the creature rubbed his back.

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The next day, Mike spent his time at the slaughterhouse like normal. He wasn't sure when killing the sheep became easier in the last few days. To point the bolt gun and fire without even flinching. But it did. He thought back and decided it happened sometime between killing Vic and Patrick. Yet that seemed odd to himself as he felt his sanity slowly slip a little more as he shot another sheep, watching it fall with a thud.

Mike stared at the bolt gun he had snuck out of the slaughterhouse that night. He looked at it closely as it shone in the dim light of the desk lamp, his homework open but untouched. He set it down carefully when a hand touched his shoulder, sluggishly wrapping around his neck. He tips his head back, smiling lazily at the clown who leans down, kissing his lips.

The bolt gun lay unused that night. Mike spent the night curled up on the clown as it touched, teased, and held him, setting his skin on fire and igniting his veins. It was perfect. It was slow and lazy and perfectly hazed his mind as he gasped and whimper, cumming into the demon's hand as it whispered to him words that made his head spin. Words that he craved to hear for so long, that helped fill in the cracks of his broken soul.

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When the following night came, it felt surreal. Bowers was quick-tempered, as always, and quick to sling slurs and insults. A scuffle broke out between them. Mike felt his head hit back on the ground, and he saw stars. But it didn't stop him from realizing Bowers saw the clown for the first time. He watched the color drain from his face, and it was strangely the most satisfying thing in the world. It was only a moment, only a few minutes, that Bowers was frozen. But it was enough time for Mike to free the bolt gun from his pocket. He lifted it; it felt so light in his hand, lighter than ever. Bowers only reacted when the gun barrel was in front of him. But it was too late as Mike easily pulled the trigger. The demon's laugh seemed to echo around him as Bowers fell off him to his side.

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The reality of everything didn't fully set in until the next night. Mike sat waiting for the clown to come. He paced his room; he was on edge. After last night with Bowers, the clown had brought him back to his house, sent him to shower, and then tucked him into bed. Mike's head shot up when he felt the presence of the demon enter his room. He looks at it with wide eyes before running over to it and hugging it. He gasps as the clown scoops him up like he weighed nothing. He wraps his arms around the demon's neck tightly.

"When are we leaving?" Mike asks, inhaling the scent of popcorn and cotton candy with the hint of caramel apple.

"In a few more days," the clown murmurs. Mike pulls back, looking at the beast with wide eyes.

"But I thought," Mike stops when cool, red lips press against his own. He relaxes, and some push back against the clown. His eyes fell shut at the soft kiss placed. He hums softly when the clown pulls back, lips meeting his cheek and temple.

"We have a few more things to deal with before we leave, " the voice whispers in his ear.

"Okay," Mike whispers, being carried over to his bed.

Chapter Text

It had been a week. A long week of repetitive daily life for him. He stood on the edge of the road, hidden by the treeline. Mike watched the kids enter the old house on Neibolt Street. He tilted his head curiously. It was odd watching them disappear into the house. From what he could make of them from their profiles at the distance he was at, he could almost picture being friends with them. If he had met them sooner, or before the Bowers gang broke him, before the clown found him. Things could have been different. But it didn't do him any good to think about things like that now.

Mike crosses the empty street. He carefully walks into the house and quietly follows them into the basement. He watches as they secure a rope before tossing it down a well in the center of the basement. One by one, he watches as they climb down, and when only one is left, he walks out. He picks up an old wooden plank. He sneaks up behind the tall, pale, skinny kid with loose curly hair. He pauses for only a moment, listening to him mutter something.

It takes him a second to make out what he is saying. But when he does, it clicks in his head, it's what the local Boy Scouts repeat. Mike had heard it several times when passing them in small groups in town with their scout leaders. Mike rises the old wooden plank before slamming it down onto the back of the taller kid. He watches him stumble forward before to the side of the well. Mike hits him again as he tries to turn around, causing him to fall into the well below. He looks down when he hears the other kids that had descended start screaming, watching their friend plummet past them.

He looks down at them as they look up. He hears one scream 'homeschool.' Before they start yelling at him to stop as he grasps the rope and begins to cut through it with Bowers' knife, he had taken it the night he had killed him. He didn't know then what possessed him to take the knife. But doing so had felt so right. Even as the kids below him grab the rope, trying to pull it to them in a pathetic attempt to save it from him, he keeps cutting. When the last thread snaps because of the blade of the knife, he looks back down as the echoes of the kids have gone quiet. It's then he realizes they are gone.

Mike hums before turning and leaving. There was more than one way into the sewer tunnels where the kids had traveled. Mike had learned them well in the last week because of the clown. Instead of working on homework after long hours at the slaughterhouse, he continued to sneak out of his house with the clown. Though by the 4th night, it wasn't sneaking out anymore. His grandfather had fallen asleep in his old recliner watching some rerun of a show, and Mike walked up quietly before leaving the house. He stared blankly before pulling Bowers' knife out and slitting his throat.

Listening to his grandfather choke on his blood had brought a strange thrill racing up his spine. His blood felt to run hot in his veins. When he showed up at the slaughterhouse the next morning, no one batted an eye when he explained his grandfather wasn't feeling well and couldn't make it in for a few days. After all, he was a good, trustworthy kid.

After leaving the house, making his way into the sewers had been easy. He met the clown with enthusiastic anticipation. He was so close, so close to being able to leave with the clown—just five more kids. Just five more kids and he could be done with Derry, Maine.

Mike moves with the clown through the sewers, finding the kids desperately trying to find a girl calling out her name. "Beverley." Mike didn't need to do much at first. He stood back, watching the clown become a large werewolf-like creature. It raced for one boy who cried out to his friends with a stutter to stay close. But he was too slow on the warning as the clown turned werewolf sunk its large, narley fangs and claws into a boy with large glasses and dark hair.

"Richie!!!" The smallest of the boys cries out. He makes a mad dash to his friend that it drops into the sewer filth. Mike's eyes go wide as the boy pulls out an inhaler, screaming. "This is battery acid." Before spraying it in the demon's face.

The fierce cry the demon lets out makes Mike's blood run cold. He watches as the demon shifts back to looking like a clown, but he can see its face melting as it shrinks back into the shadows. Mike doesn't think; he only reacts, charging at the most petite boy. He tackles him into the filth and grim, and holds him under with physical strength he didn't know he possessed.

"Let him go!!" He barely catches it from the corner of his eye as the fastest of the group comes charging at him, screaming. An old pipe in hand that he swings. Mike barely ducks out of the way in time. He closes his eyes tightly, keeping his hold on the smallest. A loud clang echoes, and Mike realizes the other kid had hit something.

"Beeeen!" Mike cracks his eyes open watching as the dirty blonde boy cries being envoloped in a blinding light and sucked into a pipe that only big enough for a small rat to fit into. Mike closes his eyes again, and when he can tell the light has faded even behind his eyelids, he slowly looks around.

The first thing he realizes is that the last boy is gone. The second thing he learns is that the smallest is no longer moving under him. He slowly moves away from him. He takes a few deep breaths. He looks at the body of the small boy and then at the blood pooling around the boy with glasses. He swallows thickly, looking down at himself covered in gray water.

He isn't sure how long he stands there, simply looking down at himself and taking in how dirty he is. How the blood slowly flows to pool around his feet. He doesn't even realize it when he finally turns and starts down the long tunnel of the sewer. He walks for what could be minutes or hours; he isn't sure. But when he reaches what seems to be the center of the sewer, as it opens up into a wide area, he looks at all of the things and bodies of the missing children floating in the air.

"So you found your way." Mike blinks, as if a haze lifts from his mind at hearing the clown's voice. He turns, looking at it, and smiles.

"I lost the last one." He says suddenly, frowning. The clown giggles, walking over to him.

"He's already taken care of, " the clown says, reaching out and taking Mike's hand. He's floating up there with the rest now, " the clown explains, leading Mike off. And it's all thanks to you, " it says.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks. "The one boy. He was able to hurt you," Mike says, looking at the clown's face, which seemed perfectly fine now.

"Oh yes, Mikey. I'm perfectly fine now after a meal. It was only a fluke, " the demon says. "But I need you to do one last thing." The demon Leads Mike around the area before stopping in front of a girl with short hair that floated away from the rest. "You need to kill this one, " the demon says, sneering at the girl, its long pointed teeth showing behind its curled red lips.

"Why do I have to kill her?" Mike asks, looking at the demon as he is gently pushed forward. The girl slowly spirals down from the air so they are level with one another. Mike looks back at her, her eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Mouth open as if in a silent scream. She was frozen as if in a single moment.

"Because after her, we can be together, " the clown whispers, leaning down to Mike. We can stay together forever, " it purrs, wrapping its arms around Mike's waist. Yet its eyes never leave the girl.

"She's the one they were looking for. The boys." Mike whispers. His hand was moving to his back pocket.

"That's right." It whispers before placing a kiss on Mike's forehead. "Be a good boy now. Kill. Her." It growls out softly, a low rumble in its chest.

Mike stares at her, his fingers twitching against his back pocket. He slowly pulls the bolt gun from his pocket, raises it, and aims it at her forehead. His expression is firm, and his eyes are narrowed.

"Forever, " he whispers before the bang of the bolt gun echoes in the large area of the sewer, followed by the demon clown's maniacal laugh.

Chapter Text

Mike hummed, curled up on the Clown. He had lost count long ago of how many years had passed and how long he had been with the Clown. But it did matter; he was happy.

Somewhere along the way, by some strange force, the Clown possessed, he had stopped aging —or his aging had slowed down significantly. Either way, he could stay with the Clown for the foreseeable future. If he had to guess, he looked about 25 years old. He had for what felt like forever now. The time when he was still just a preteen was a distant memory for him.

Mike carefully slips free from the Clown's grasp. The Clown lay sleeping on the large bed that comfortably fit them both. Mike stretches, sighing softly as he gets up, walks out of the bedroom, and into the kitchen. He pulls out a gallon of milk, opens it, and drinks it from the carton. He sets the carton on the counter, looking out the small apartment window.

He had stayed in Derry the whole time. Yet, even as time passed and others who had once been his age grew, while those older died, no one questioned his existence or anything in Derry, Maine. It was as if some veil had been set over the town when it came to him.

He had gone home the night after being in the sewer when he had killed the odd group of misfits. The Clown had come with him, and they cleaned up his grandfather's body. He had buried him out in the garden. He couldn't bring himself to let the Clown dispose of his grandfather in whatever odd way it could.

Mike continued to work at the slaughterhouse after that. It was as if the memory of his grandfather working there was erased from everyone's mind. They would ask how he was and how his health was holding up, and that was it. On the rare occasion someone would drop by to see him, Mike had to say he was sleeping, and that was the end of that. This went on for a few years before, finally, people stopped asking, stopped coming by, and stopped remembering.

He left the slaughterhouse when he was only 18, or at least he appeared to be only 18. He started working at the library, where he was happy. He spent his time surrounded by books and taking care of himself. After the day in the sewer with the kids, no one harassed him. He was able to live peacefully.

He ended up keeping his grandfather's house, if only to ensure that no one ever discovered his grandfather's body buried in the garden. He hardly visited the old farmhouse. But occasionally, he felt nostalgic and would find himself back in the old house, mindlessly cleaning or simply relaxing on the old couch like a kid again.

Mike jumps slightly when he feels arms wrap around his waist, pulling him from his thoughts. He smiles slightly, leaning back into the embrace. He looks back at the Clown, his arms overlapping with the Clown's, which hold him close.

"Your time is almost up," Mike whispers, looking back out the small window.

"Hmm, it is, but I'll be back." The Clown murmurs, leaning down and kissing Mike's temple.

"Time feels funny when you aren't here. It feels like I'm living in a hazy sort of dream," Mike says. Then you come back, and everything is clear again." He closes his eyes as the Clown's gloved hands slip under his shirt.

"Are you complaining?" The Clown asks as he shifts to kissing Mike's neck.

"No. If it means being with you when you wake, it's fine." Mike says as the Clown's hands slide up his chest. He sighs, twisting in the Clown's grasp. He wraps his arms around the Clown's neck, tugging it down to him.

He melts when their lips meet. He moans softly as he lets himself be led back into the bedroom. Only briefly pulling away from the kiss, Mike takes a breath or two before kissing again. Mike allows himself to be laid on the bed. He hums softly, through panting breaths, as his shirt is undone.

He goes limp, becoming pliable to the Clown. He moans as the Clown takes him swiftly. His eyes roll back as he feels how deeply the Clown presses into him. He clings to the Clown just as desperately as the first time they met.

Mike fully planned to enjoy the last days he had left with the Clown until it went back to sleep. He would wait for twenty-seven years again until the Clown woke again to eat, to be with him, and to live a life with him. It wasn't what he had pictured his life being, but it was his, and the closest to perfection he could imagine finding.