Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's a wonder how quickly one's entire life can come crumbling down around them. Ironically as quickly as the ground under him at the Creel house did. Though, Jason's downfall had a bit of an insidious onset if he's being honest in his evaluation of it. In some ways, now that the illusions built around him in concrete during his childhood have all but shattered, he sees that his fall from grace would have most likely been inevitable.

But that's not how he felt when it all started.

He's sixteen when he meets Chrissy Cunningham. He's seen her around school, she's cheered at his games the last two years. She's pretty in that classic way. Small, skinny, always clean and put together. She's nice—at least he thinks so. He hasn't really spent too much time around her. When Pat's pointed out that her smile is nice and she's got pretty eyes, he feels something low in his stomach. Can't help but agree. But he hasn't really come to know her. None of their classes have intersected somehow, and he doesn't usually sit with the cheerleaders at lunch. He prefers to hang out with Pat and Andy. Though sometimes Andy makes him want to tear his hair out. He talks and talks and it drives Jason insane when he interrupts Pat. But everyone has their flaws, so Jason tries to forgive him.

He and Chrissy have been revolving around one another essentially their whole lives. In orbit of one another's social groups, at the same parties and events, but not quite colliding. Not until October of his Junior year. Hers is a family of faith. He knows that they make their appearance at church weekly. That Debby Cunningham runs events and organizes potlucks for the community. But recently they've needed a switch, and in a town like Hawkins, switching churches is the kind of thing that brings about gossip. Mom made a real fuss of it when she came home from her book club at Karen Wheeler's earlier in the week. Said that Debby had approached her about coming to check out Sunday mass. It's great news, really. Dad is always saying that the Episcopalian church on Cherry, is too permissive. Not rooted in God's teachings. Lets people get too comfortable in their sin rather than confronting and repenting.

He sees Chrissy on Sunday. All of the Cunningham's have piled in, smiles pasted on all of their faces as Debby and Marcus chat with the Lyndon's. Jason is glad that the Cunningham's are here, have started on their journey to truly honor the gospel. He also can't stop looking at Chrissy. There's something about her. An energy that pulls him in. She must spot him looking because she waves and he takes it as an invitation to come over and talk to her. Build a bridge between them. Welcome her to his community.

He sees her Monday when he gets out of the first morning practice of the season. Harrington's run them ragged, and he can already see some sort of power skirmish rising between him and Hargrove, but there's not much he can do about it, not now. He personally thinks that the way Hargrove plays is damaging for the team. And he doesn't like the way that he looks at Pat. He knows what the nasty glimmer in his eye means. Doesn't like the way that it's being directed at certain members of the team. Hopes that Hargrove punches Harrington and gets kicked off the team so that none of them have to deal with him. Jason's thinking about it when he runs into Chrissy in the hall. Almost crashes right into her.

"Hi!" She smiles as she says it. He thinks her smile looks a lot like his.

"Morning Chrissy. Sorry about almost walking into you. Didn't see you there." He laughs a little awkwardly. There's something about talking to her that makes him nervous.

"It's fine. Were you at practice?" She dismisses his apology.

"Yeah, it was the first and worst one of the season!" He grumbles a little bit because he's sore and that means he'll be sore the whole day.

"Oh. The first morning practice kills me every time. It's like my legs still haven't recovered from the night before and now I have to do flips on jelly limbs? No thank you."

"Yeah. God, it's horrible. Just sore for the whole day and the practice after school too. At least I know that I'll sleep well tonight. But that's enough about me, how come you're here so early? I thought cheer only did morning practices on Fridays." Mom always says to ask girls about themselves, so he tries to turn the conversation around. And sue him but he's a bit curious about why she would willingly be at school before 8am if she didn't have to.

"I actually just got here," her right eye twitches a little. He doesn't know her well enough to say it's a tell while lying but he thinks it might be considering that it's cold outside, dropped below fifty this morning. And with no tint to her nose or cheeks she looks like she's been inside a while. He doesn't say anything though just listens as she continues on. "Mom just dropped me off. I'm supposed to be doing some research for French, just needed to get some books from the library, I don't know if you're heading in that direction but we can walk together if you'd like?"

Jason wasn't planning on going to the library, but he can catch up on Math homework later. He could do it with her while she reads whatever she needs to for French class. "Sure, actually. I had to get some Pre-calc done anyways. I'll finish up while you read? Call it a study-date." He ribs her lightly with his elbow in an ironic fashion, before he steps to her side and they head off.

When he asks her out on their first date, he invites her on a study date. It's more of a joke than anything, after all finals have just ended. But he thinks the call back to their first time hanging out is funny. Romantic. Pat said it was a good idea, and he's dated more girls that Jason has—he hasn't dated any girls but this thing with Chrissy seems like it could be a sure thing.

He knows he should ask her out with the amount of time that they've been hanging out and he really does like hanging out with her. She's quickly become one of his best friends. If he's not with Pat or doing things for church or basketball, then he's hanging out with her or studying, usually also with her. He's never connected so much with a girl or anybody but Pat really. He feels like there's a bit of a wall between him and most people no matter how hard he works at breaking it down, and he's never been able to get that wall down with a girl. Not for lack of trying. But with Chrissy it's easy. She's funny and smart and he thinks that she gets him. They've got similar enough home and school lives that it makes sense for them to date, but he thinks that even if they didn't, he and Chrissy would click either way.

Jason thinks this is what finding your person is supposed to feel like. He's heard the adage enough. That your partner is supposed to be your best friend. He thinks he and Chrissy are close to becoming best friends. Like him and Pat.

Their first date is over winter break and he makes sure it's perfect. He picks Chrissy up from her house. Gets there a bit early to chat up Marcus and Debby. Promises them he'll have Chrissy home before curfew. Let's them know he can't wait to see them at church tomorrow. Pretends that he doesn't hear the comment Debby makes about Chrissy not eating too much. Doesn't bring it up in the car on the way to Lola's—the only diner in town that's worth eating at since Benny's closed down last year.

He's picked up on Chrissy's eating habits. Notices how she's always on a diet. And before they'd gotten close he didn't get why but now that's he's gotten to know her he realizes how much Debby has to do with it all. But he doesn't really know what he's supposed to do to help. So he just lets her order first when they get to Lola's and gets the same salad as her. She agreed to split a hot chocolate when they go look at the lights later, he's thinking about asking the waitress to combine two into one big cup. He'll sneak off and ask her when Chrissy goes to the bathroom.

The salad is okay but the date is a lot of fun. It doesn't feel very different from what they usually do. It's just them talking mostly about school and break plans. He hears a lot about Robin Buckley—a girl in Chrissy's French class that's apparently taught herself enough to speak better than the teacher. Chrissy said she's going to ask Robin to tutor her next semester. Jason doesn't think she really needs a tutor. Honestly, he's pretty sure she just wants a friend that's not a Debbie-approved cheerleader. He's all for it. Chrissy's current best friend laughs a little like a hyena. He thinks she's the Andy of the cheer group. He hopes that Chrissy and Robin get on, maybe Robin can be Chrissy's Pat. He doesn't know what it says about Debbie that she approves of him, gushes about him apparently. A broken clock is right twice a day he supposes.

He has his first kiss at seventeen, two weeks after winter break. He was going to kiss her when at the lights but he chickened out. Thinks she did too. And then it just felt wrong to kiss her in front of her door—not when he could feel Debbie and Marcus peering through the windows none too subtly. But Chrissy asked Robin to tutor her and she'd agreed. She also extended an invitation to a band party, one that Hargrove wouldn't be caught dead at. Jason's thankful for that, it feels near a divine miracle. Ever since he's destroyed Harrington's face and the guy was out of school for almost a month, and now permanently off the team, Hargrove's gotten worst. He knows that Munson is a devil worshiper but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't think Hargrove was one too he's seen him laugh about running over a cat. And Munson may be a freak and sodomite too, but at least he has good drugs and doesn't try to actively kill people; so even though Jason feels hatred spill through him at times when he sees The Freak, better him than Hargrove. Better none.

Alas, the party Robin's invited them to is at Noah Feldman's and Munson always sells at his parties. Both he and Chrissy walked so he shoves down his grimace at seeing The Freak and all of his chains and satanic shirts. This one features a disemboweled looking corpse with leathery skin. It's vile. But it's weed and he thinks if he splits a joint with her, maybe he'll be less nervous about kissing her. He knows he's not supposed to be nervous, but he's never kissed anyone so he excuses it. The weed should drive the facade of confidence anyways. And they don't have to worry about getting caught high. Chrissy's parents are out for the weekend, dad on a work trip and mom at a retreat. He told his parents he'd be going to a party, crashing at a friend's. He wonders if it's lying when said friend is his girlfriend. It probably is. Jason's sure Dad knows with the way he looked at him when he said it, but he'd let him go so he's not sure it matters. He'll probably tell him later anyways. Doesn't relish the sin of lying hanging heavy on his head.

The pre-roll cost him four dollars, more than the girl in front of him paid. Shit like this is why he hates Munson. He's not too surprised about the level of greed though. They make their rounds and dance and eventually when the night feels like it's winding down and he and Chrissy have said hello to Robin, have hung out with her a little bit they retreat to the backyard to smoke up.

He feels ants crawling around in his stomach but ignores them. The smoke will kill them. Instead, he lights the joint. Brings it to his lips and shows Chrissy how to breathe it in, hold it in his lungs until he can feel the smoke trying to crawl out, its claws scratching up his throat as he lets go. She coughs more than he does but as they pass the joint back and forth on the walk to Chrissy's they both feel loser. The ants in his stomach asleep. They've burned it down to the roach and he finally feels confident enough to kiss her. Asks her if she's ever shotgunned before, and laughs a little when she says only beer. That had surprised him the first time they'd gone to a party. He was expecting her to not have known what shotgunning was, but she chugged down the shit beer like it was water. He knows that she knows what it is. They'd both seen Pat do it. He asks her if she wants to and she makes a comment about him stealing Pat's moves that has the ants jiggling a little again. He breathes in one last, extra harsh pull and lets the smoke settle inside his chest, when it feels like it's bursting to get out he leans down a little, she's already half way there and he meets her. Tilting her head the way he's seen Pat do, breathing the smoke out into her parted mouth, he lets her suck it in and this close with their lips touching he kisses her.

Kissing is—it's fine. It's fun but he thinks everyone's a little too into it. Chrissy has nice lips. They're soft, the kind of lips he can melt against. And they taste like her strawberry ChapStick. At first, he thought that maybe the kissing was just okay. No fireworks because they were both new to it. But it's May and they've been kissing more and more. Sneaking make out sessions at parties. It's gotten better but it's still not exactly right. He feels like there has to be more to it, to kissing. Especially because it's not like he doesn't like Chrissy. She's his person. But kissing is just kissing. And what kind of boyfriend would he be if he brought it up? A shitty one. So Jason just resolves to keep kissing her. To have fun with fine.

Chrissy and Pat have been a little off the last month. Complaining of nightmares. At first Jason thought it was the stress of college acceptances coming in. He knows Chrissy's mom has taken it up a notch with the dieting since scouts started coming around. But the nose bleeds and headaches they've both been having this week freak him out a little. Maybe they're sick. He's not sure what kind of cold makes somebody bleed from their nose. But it's Spring Break in two days so maybe he'll be able to convince the two of them to see a doctor on their time off.

The ringing in his ears hasn't stopped since Mom and Dad sat him down when he'd gotten home with Pat at his side. They told him what happened to Chrissy before the cops came to ask when he'd last seen her. He's not sure how he made it through that conversation. Felt like a hamster running on a wheel. The words she said she wasn't feeling well. That she was going home running on repeat in his head for the last hour.

They asked him over and over and it started to feel like an interrogation. And all he's been able to say is,

She went home. Said she wasn't feeling well.

in

She went home. Said she wasn't feeling well.

response

She went home. Said she wasn't feeling well.

to

She went home. Said she wasn't feeling well.

every

She went home. Said she wasn't feeling well.

question.

He's been sitting on the couch long enough for Pat to leave, get Tylenol for his headache, and come back. It's taken hours for the ringing to subside enough for him to really register where they said they found her body.

In The Freak's trailer.

He can't stop his mind from running at the thought. Conjuring images of him harvesting her organs, digging into her skin, snapping her bones to chew on with gnashing bites of his teeth.

He vomits all over his shoes and the rug below him.

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She lies to him. Not for the first time. She feels guilty about it, about all the lying. It's not like she does it to hurt him. She loves him in the same way he loves her, but unlike him she knows that's not how she's supposed to. Maybe it's easier to know what you're lying about when your dad isn't the pastor of the kind of church that Chrissy's parents switch to when they see their son kissing another boy. She'll feel guilty about lying to him in her dreams. She's felt guilty in them for so long. Her dreams have been plagued with a specter of her lies and her short comings since their anniversary. Since she's realized that she's been lying. Since she stopped making sure to think about Jason's lips when they kiss. She'll feel bad about lying later.

She feels bad now, so it's not too far from the truth when she tells him that she doesn't feel well, that she's going home instead of the party.

She doesn't feel too bad about getting into Eddie Munson's van. He lets her choose the music and she doesn't comment on the Tears for Fears tape she sees in his glove compartment just slides it into the tape deck. It comes onto her favorite song. Change. She sings along to it. Doesn't say anything when he sings with her.

She tries to say something when the spectre is back and she's awake. She's not supposed to feel bad about lying, not yet. Not until she's asleep. She can't say anything. Can't do anything but scream as her bones snap, one by one the spectre plays with her like she's bubble wrap.

Chapter Text

There's something almost funny about how one action can cause guilt and self-hatred to be predominant factors in his life. How he can go from righteous and well-meaning to a monster with one misstep. How guilt can push him off a ledge, make him grow claws, and even when he's been plucked and groomed and remade into himself, it sits in his chest. It's tarry feathers ensorcelling his consciousness, taunting him without reprieve. Though, the more that he looks at that line, now carved through his thorax, he wonders if there's ever been a time where he wasn't racked with guilt.

Jason tries earnestly to be good, to be kind. To extend the kind of helping hand Dad has always emphasized he do. But some people make it so so hard. It's not that he wants to be a bully, but he knows what his place is on the team. Knows that he has to play a certain part if he wants to make captain his senior year. And he does. It's not like he's the one chasing after Munson right now. And anyways, is it really so bad to besmirch the local devil-worshiper? He's not the one who called him a queer first. He heard it from Fred.

In middle school Valentine's day was still fun. There wasn't any real pressure surrounding it. Mom would buy little cards for all of his classmates and she'd put them, along with heart shaped lollipops into themed baggies. All of the neighborhood moms did that up until the sixth grade. It was a nice gesture. He and Pat would always combine their hauls of the day and trade with one another. He misses doing that.

In seventh and eighth grade people weren't old enough to date, not really, and who would want to? But for some reason, the tradition of giving each other Valentine's stopped. This year though, everyone is dating. Like Pat has a date with Annie Sampson from Geometry. So everyone is dating, everyone except Jason. And he gets some lee-way. Pastor's son and all that, nobody expects him to put out like Harrington does. But it doesn't stop certain jeers from cropping up around the locker room. They shouldn't bother him but they do. And he'll be damned if he's going to be accused of being a queer.

It's an ugly word. One that's been playing on a loop in the back of his mind since Aaron Levy dropped it in the locker room. He can't imagine why. Jason always keeps his eyes to himself in the locker room, is never the last or the first one out, and he's not the one who's hand is always feeling everyone's biceps up unlike Aaron. So really who's the queer?

But the word sticks. It lodges into his head and he can't get it out. It's rumbling around in there when he has to help walk Fred Benson to the nurses office after he falls and twists his ankle during gym class. They're passing by the booth the student council put up to sell Valentine's. The Freak is there. He can't imagine anybody would stoop so low as to date him, but who knows, maybe he sacrificed something to the devil to get some poor girl in his thrall.

"Are you getting a valentine for anyone?" He asks Fred, in part to be nice, but mostly to get his mind off of the fact that Munson is dating somebody and he isn't.

"No. There's this girl on the newspaper with me, but I don't think she'd care if I got her something." And it's the pitiful tone with the equally pitiful look in Fred's eyes when he says it that makes Jason jump to action.

"I don't know about that. I'm sure she'd be happy to get something! Listen, we've got basically the entire rest of the period anyways, why don't we backtrack and you send her a rose?" He's not sure why he's so desperate to get Fred a date with this girl, but he's itching to do it.

"Mmmm….Yeah. Okay sure. But I'll need to get my wallet. My lockers just up the hall, next to Senorita Lewinsky's class." He says after a moment of consideration, and seeing him perk up a little makes Jason forget about the distate thick on his tongue after seeing Munson, makes the word queer quiet a little.

He helps Fred to his locker and they make their slow way towards the booth. Jason hangs back a little when Fred buys his rose, watches as he makes conversation with the Sophomore selling it to him. Somebody he's friendly with if they way they're laughing is any indication. They must be in some sort of scholastic club together by the looks of their thick glasses, and her sweater vest. Fred finishes paying and together they head off towards the nurses office again. It's not until they're a little ways off, out of earshot that he says something. Maybe he thinks it's a bargaining chip, one that will get him in better graces with the team. Jason's honestly not sure why he says what he does. But he wishes he hadn't, because the ugly word had just quelled and now it's back. Louder than before. Pounding at his brain with more fervor.

"I promised I wouldn't say anything. But, I heard from Carly that Munson bought a rose for a guy and she wouldn't say who the guy was, and my first thought was oh maybe it's just a friend. But, it's Munson and you know what they say about him, so probably not." He says it with a snide, judgey tone. The same one that Aaron used.

The word is loud.

Louder than ever.

It's like a megaphone has been turned up in his mind, and it flashes neon at lunch as he tells the guys on the team what he heard from Fred.

It's still there the next day when he spots Munson at his table, sees the bruise that rides high on his cheekbone. He feels something fester in his gut at the sight. It reminds him of the bruises Pat sometimes comes to school with after he, "falls". The feeling curdles the word, disintegrates it a little bit, but he feels a feather take root in his stomach.

He doesn't talk to Fred after that.

He feels the ugly flap of wings whenever he makes eye contact with him at basketball games. Glad of the camera eclipsing his face.

Mom cleaned up his vomit a little earlier. And Dad sent him and Pat up to his room. He showered and got dressed on auto-pilot while Pat waited for him. They've been sort of just sitting in bis room in silence, Jason on his bed, Pat on the swivel chair at his desk, legs overlapped since. They didn't get up when Mom let Andy in. And he's the one who breaks the news about Fred. Can't contain his blabber mouth.

Another kid dead. Andy says they found him at the trailer park. Body all twisted up and shattered. Eyes missing. Jason doesn't miss the way Pat slaps him upside the head for saying that's exactly how Chrissy looked when the cops found her at Munson's.

There's that name again.

He still feels numb in the same way he has been as he listens but the feathered mess of guilt in his stomach congeals with the anger and grief. He's out the door before he can really think about what he's doing. Pat and Andy chasing after him. He must be saying something but he's not really processing whatever's coming out of his mouth. Doesn't process what they're saying either just gets behind the wheel of his Jeep, and takes off the second their doors are closed.

He spots Sinclair walking on the road as he turns out of the neighborhood. Brings the car to a screeching halt and tells Sinclair to get in. He's a nice kid, he plays well, Pat likes him. Has helped him out a lot this season. But right now the only thing Jason can see when he looks at Sinclair is him joking with Munson during lunch. And that ugly Hellfire shirt he wears on Fridays. Sinclair doesn't know what's happened. That much is clear and Jason doesn't need him to be Munson's next victim even if he is a fringe member of the cult. So he drops him off outside his house after Sinclair tells him about Munson's band practice when Jason asks, fingers clenching tight on the steering wheel. It's at some Junior, Gareth Emerson's, house out in Loch Nora.

It doesn't take long to figure out that they're in the right place when he hears loud anvil and screeching noises coming from an open garage. And as they pull up he can see three kids that eat lunch at Munson's table. All of them dressed like off brand versions of the lecher. But there's no Munson. And that absence strikes through him. He can't stop himself from getting out of the car. From dragging the small one away from his friends. Slamming his foot down on the kid's hand. making him feel small the way that Jason's felt since this morning, until he finally coughs up the names Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair. He digs his foot down onto the bone, pressing harder for a moment before he lets go.

He feels the feathered twist, like a mangled crow's wing tighten around his heart when he meets the kids tear-filled eyes. When he sees how Pat looks at him. It's a blink and you'll miss it glance. But he feels the stab of it.

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He's felt heavy since last year. Guilt weighing him down, drowning him, little by little. He thinks there are pieces of him that are tarnished and rusted through silver, embedded deep within his core. He knows he should be better than he is. But he feels that guilt twinge through him at the absence of horror when he and Nancy pull up at Forest Hills. He should feel disgust at what they've come to investigate. But it's hard to feel bad about a slut who gives it up to Carver and probably half the basketball team getting murdered by a faggot in his little freak house. What was she doing here anyways? The guilt that he doesn't feel all that bad about it, when Nancy does settles in deep.

He shivers a little at the whisper of cold that runs up his spine when they get out of the car. It's been a bright morning, uncharacteristic for this time of year when grey clouds usually coat the sky. But now that Nancy's talking to Mr. Munson, trying to suss out what happened, as if it isn't obvious, he feels like it's gotten darker. The sun's not blotted out but there's a shroud that hangs heavy. Fred blinks, pushes his glasses up his face and rubs his eyes, tries to clear them as he hears the chime of a clock. That same repetitive ding that he's been hearing the last few weeks. That same clock that he knows he saw yesterday after waking up. His gut twists at the reminder of his dreams. The leaves crunching underfoot as he tries to walk off the memory sound sharply in his ears. Sound like the metal of his car's bumper as it slammed into that poor old woman, Mrs. Grady's car. His quick intake of breath like his brother's sharp shout as he was launched out the glass of the windshield. Both of them too drunk to be behind the wheel.

He blinks again tries to shake the images, the sounds off, but he can't. When he opens his eyes again, he's strapped to the driver's seat. Seat-belt wrapping tighter and tighter around him. He can see Tyler's body, his upper half slumped against a tree. Can see as the bottom of him melts in that same dream-like way it's been wont to do in his dreams every night since January. Can see how Mrs. Grady's corpse reanimates itself, face and body shifting between the image of her and Tyler as she gets closer and closer to him. Fred tries to thrash, but the strap digs in, tight, presses down on his bones.

The more he moves, the more he ignores the chittering sound lancing through his ears, the heavier he feels. The more twisted he becomes, until soon enough his bones are warped like melted steel beams. His screams matching the ones on that night, as his eyes are sucked in through his head and the guilt that's been eating him, tarnishes him whole.

Chapter Text

It doesn't take much to make somebody lonely. He's felt lonely before even when he was surrounded by people, by members of church, by his family, by the guys on the team—even with all of those people pressing themselves into his life, he's felt lonely. It's been intermittent. Jason thinks about how easy it is to feel lonely even when you're not alone. He's never felt that way with Pat. He'd understood Jason, thinned the veil between Jason and himself, between Jason and others. Like the soothing of a salve on the fresh burn of a gash.

He wonders, will he ever feel the relief of loneliness's reprieve now that he can never be alone in himself again?

Or, is the sensation gone, near forgotten to time?

His breath is coming in fast, so fast. He feels like he's going to choke on the spit building in his mouth as he wails like a baby from the searing pain in his knees. He hates recess. He thought it would be fun, but it's not. It's the third day of school and he thought it would be like camp. But it's not like camp and nobody wants to play with him. And Jason's crying again. Breath coming in all hu hu hu hu in stuttering gasps.

"Are you okay?" He looks up at the boy who's stopped in front of him, takes in his dark skin and curly hair, his deep eyes.

His surprise at being approached knocks Jason out of his crying.

"Yeah. I'm fine." He huffs out. Tear covered cheeks puffing a little at the embarrassment of somebody seeing him cry over a scratched knee. He hopes the boy leaves him alone.

"Okay, do you wanna play tag with me and my friend Andy then?" His voice is all earnest when he asks, eyes glimmering.

He thinks about it for a second, breath calming down still. His gut reaction is to say no out of spite. He doesn't want to play tag, he wants to go back to crying about his stupid skinned knee.

He says agrees anyways. "Sure." The kid takes a step back and holds out a hand for Jason to take when he gets off the ground.

"My name's Patrick. I'm in Ms. Rooney's class, but you can call me Pat. Only Dad calls me Patrick if he's angry."

"I'm Jason," he introduces himself, holding out a hand to shake like he's seen Dad do. "I'm in Mr. Field's class." He doesn't tell Patrick about having a nickname, because he's never had one before. He thinks he'd like it if Patrick—-if Pat gave him one. It would be pretty cool he thinks.

He follows Pat to the far side of the field, away from the gravel that he skinned his knee on, over to a kid with wild brown curly hair that sticks up. Pat introduces him to Andy. They don't talk long before starting. There's only so much time left of recess. Pat tags Andy, screams "you're it," at the top of his lungs and he and Jason both take off, scattering in opposite directions. The adrenaline is back shooting through him, but unlike before he feels gooey in a good way.

They run around until the whistle blows and they have to go in. Jason laughs about being king of tag. Feels like he's on top of the world with Pat next to him. Neither of them getting tagged by Andy. It's like a warmth surging through him, until Ms. Rooney, the teacher supervising lunch sees his busted knee, all red and dirty. She pops his bubble with a needle, fussing over him. He doesn't want to go to the nurses he wants to enjoy the rest of his break with Pat. And Andy. She must tell that he's about to throw a fit because she lets Pat go with him to the nurses office. Lets him stay the entire time while the nurse cleans the blood and puts ointment on the abrasions before putting a bandaid over it. One of the ugly ones.

Pat offers to sign it with a sharpie even though it's not a cast and the nurse lets him.

Jason thinks he might love recess now, even if his knee still stings and Andy has weird square teeth.

He feels like there are hundreds of fireflies flickering under his skin. No. Maybe a hundred bees. He's so excited, he's going to explode! Mom said that he could have Pat over today! He's been grounded the last month after Andy and Pat and some of the other boys from little league came over. A game of freeze tag broke out and maybe it was an objective mistake to play inside, but how were they supposed to know that it would end with Chance running into the coffee table and knocking over one of the vases that Grandma gifted Mom and Dad? He tried to explain himself but they didn't want to hear it. He hasn't' been allowed to have friends over since. It's so unfair! But he's trying to put it behind himself, because his imprisonment is over. And, and, Pat gets to come over and Mom said that if they are good this time then he can have all of his friends over for his seventh birthday party in November. And he knows that they will because it's Pat.

Jason has never met anybody who's as respectful or good with parents as Pat is. It's a little weird how proper he is. Always calls women, "ma'am," and men, "sir," and not just their teachers but Pat calls all parents that too. And he always makes eye contact and he never interrupts them. Mom and Dad always say he's so polite. But Jason thinks it's a little bit odd, because one time Dad went to pat him on the shoulder and he's pretty sure that Pat flinched a little. It was a slight thing, so he doesn't think anybody him noticed it. And when he brought it up to Dad later, he just grimaced in distaste, told him that not everyone treats their kids how they're supposed to. He hopes that's not the case with Pat. But his parents don't want him going over to Pat's anymore. Jason regrets bringing it up, but at least he's allowed to have Pat over and they can play basketball together as much as they want at his house. Well, as long as he isn't grounded.

It's been gloomy and drab outside the last three days. Rain pouring and heaving from the sky, painting Hawkins grey and washing what leaves remained on the trees away. Jason has always hated late November. It's ugly and the weather sucks. Late November always spells indoor recess and no basketball when he's home from school because Mom says he'll catch a cold. It also means his socks get wet on the sprint home from the bus stop. He hates it, can't wait until it's finally cold enough for all the rain to turn into snow so he and Pat can build snowmen during recess and they can get into snowball fights too. Those are his favorite, except for when the snowballs are packed with ice. But it's not cold enough yet, so it just rains and rains and rains with no end in sight. He thinks if he were a bug he'd have been washed away into the gutters.

He isn't a bug though, so instead he's had indoor recess all week. Indoor recess used to be fun because the teachers would put on a movie and they'd all watch it as a class, but they've had it so much this month that he's tired of watching movies. He can watch better ones at home when he's done with his math homework and anyways, he's behind on his reading log. Pat is too, so Jason suggests that they sneak off to the back of the classroom, to sit by Mr. Scott's desk and read. He doesn't actually have a book to read, but the logs are due before Thanksgiving break next week, and he hasn't read anything, and Mom said he'd be grounded again if he doesn't finish his reading log this month. So he needs to do something about it. He can't stand the idea of being grounded over Thanksgiving.

Pat likes to read though. He doesn't tell anybody about it but he's seen the books that Pat keeps at home so he trusts him to choose. Pat picks out Narnia from the bookshelf by Mr. Scott's desk, the one that they're allowed to get books from when they're in class. Jason's never read Narnia. He knows Mom didn't like the sound of the book when she heard that some of the kids in class were reading it but, he thinks she'd rather him finish his reading log than not, and anyways he can't see what's so bad about a lion that talks.

He and Pat take turns reading the pages to each other. It's probably a bit silly to popcorn read but the idea of Pat flipping ahead while he's still reading a page makes Jason's skin crawl, he thinks Pat feels the same way because they don't really have a conversation about it. They just pick up the book, sit next to each other on the plush carpet and start reading aloud, switching after each page. Recess doesn't last too long, but by the time it's over, Jason's itching to finish the book. He wonders if they can get a copy from the school library to read at his house when Pat comes over on Friday.

As he sits on the bench outside of school, waiting for Pat, Jason doesn't know that this is the last time the two of them will exchange valentines with one another for almost a decade. It's been a tradition since first grade when, they switched to full days at school instead of half-days, that kids would buy each other tacky cards and candy and give them out. He's always liked the tradition even if Dad made him pace himself and some people bought candy. But bad candy, like Sweethearts, are still candy. And ever since he and Pat have been friends, the two of them have had a tradition of compiling their haul for the day and after school, trading with one another for the candy. It's worked out really well for him. Jason loves Tootsie Rolls and Pat doesn't like the texture or the rubbery taste. The same way Jason thinks that Sweethearts are chalky and the wrong kind of crunchy.

He finally sees Pat coming out of the double doors and he run-walks to him, backpack slapping the small of his back inelegantly. The two of them make their way over to join the line of kids waiting for the bus. He tells Pat all about the haul he got today, that this year it seemed to be mostly chocolate of different variety, and Pat agrees, says that he got a lot of the same, that and Nerds. They both like Nerds a lot.

Jason can feel himself buzzing with energy to partake in their age old tradition, he's lucky that the ride home isn't too long, and since it's Friday, Pat's allowed to stay the night for a sleepover before Dad drives them to practice at the community center in the morning.

He has no idea what was in the punch he had earlier, but whatever it was, he's feeling it now and regretting downing three cups worth of the cherry flavored gasoline mess. His stomach is woozy and runny, and Jason feels stuck in place. He can't move from the bench he's been sitting on for the last twenty minutes. Just sort of feels himself hanging out as his gums turn a bit numb and he lets himself recline on the girl next to him. He doesn't remember her name and he feels like he should probably be doing something with her, kissing her. The same way that he can see Pat making out with Tracy Gellis on the other side of the bonfire, across from him and the girl who's boobs make a nice pillow. He tries to close his eyes but it unsettles him to see nothing and move up and down with girl's breathing. Like being on a boat, except Jason hates boats. They always make him vomit. He really really doesn't want to yak. That would be so embarrassing. He hears a giggle coming from above him, realizes that he must have been thinking out loud.

"Sorry." He slurs out at the girl. Opens his eyes to stare at her warm brown ones.

"It's okay." She laughs and runs her long fingers through his hair, and he hears a little whimper escape his lips at being jostled before settling back on her chest. It's soft and he doesn't really get the hype behind boobs. But they make functional cushions. He wonders if he's supposed to comment on hers. He decides that his ministrations are better left quiet. Instead, his eyes find Pat and Tracy. He can't seem to rip his gaze from what he's seeing.

He didn't know that Pat smoked. Feels cheated that Pat didn't ask him to smoke together. Feels a little nausea at the thought that he's been left out, that Pat's abandoning him for some chick and her stupid light blonde hair and ugly blue eyes. Or maybe that's the alcohol twisting in his gut. It must be. And it's working hard to remind him of how ugly and bereft he felt way back when during recess, when he'd fallen and scraped his knees. He shakes the murky feeling away, eyes focusing back on the sight in front of him. Locking in on Pat's face as he brings the joint to his plush lips and inhales deep. Jason watches the movement of his long columned neck as he sucks the smoke in. Can't look away as he parts his lips and leans in, suave as anything and puts his big hand on Tracy's face, fingers wrapping under her surprisingly sharp jaw and by her ear. Pat pulls her in and Jason can see the smoke pass between his lips to her parted ones. Pat closes the distance. And Jason's never kissed a girl, rarely thought about it, but he can't look away from what he's seeing. Can't look away from the way that Tracy is leaning in, the way that Pat deepens the kiss, until he's dragging Tracy onto his lap and she's pulling at his hair. He makes a noise that's deep as she straddles him fully.

The nausea that shoots through Jason is overpowering at the sight of some chick mauling Pat, and he can't keep it in. He rolls off the girl, who's name he's just remembered is Alice. He rolls off of Alice's tits and jogs a ways to the side towards the woods. Can't stop his gut from contracting and pushing up cherry flavoured bile. He ignores the fact that he's hard as he wipes at his mouth with his sleeve. He hates alcohol.

Jason doesn't head back to the fire pit.

Jason's thinking about how he needs to stop doing this as he runs his hand down his abs, letting the short nails scrape at his skin and tangle, pulling lightly at the hair that leads down to his cock. This is the third day in a row that he's done this. Three times is a pattern and he doesn't think it's going to stop even though he knows it's wrong of him to masturbate. Knows that he shouldn't be stripping his cock near raw at all let alone nightly. But he's waited tonight, like the last two nights, for Mom and Dad's lights to go out in their room, stayed up staring at his ceiling in the dark, waiting until he could hear only the sounds of his thoughts and the house breathing. Then under his sheets, he's run his hand up under his sleep shirt, let the warmth and weight of it settle against the grooves of his chest. Let it press down.

Jason's allowed himself to get carried away in a fantasy that doesn't belong to him. Cannot belong to him. It's not wholly his fault, even though he feels like a debauchee as he starts to lose himself in the sensation, putting both hands to work. Hasn't let them touch his straining and shirked dick. He'll shoulder the blame for engaging in this level of promiscuity, but he refuses to do so himself. He wasn't the one that fucked some chick and told his best friend about it. That was Pat. It was Pat who called Jason and asked to come over the day after he lost his virginity. It was Pat who sat on the chair in his spot next to Jason's bed, long muscular legs flexing as he crossed them over Jason's. It was Pat not Jason who ran his mouth about laying between Carrie's thighs, licking up the seam of her cunt, burying his face, his fingers, his dick in her.

It was Pat who ignited this slop fest of activity in Jason. And now he can't stop himself. Can't stop thinking about how Pat made Carrie feel. Can't help himself as he pulls his hair imagining Pat's thick and long fingers running through her long blonde hair, pulling a little as he buries his hand in her waves, feeds one of her small breasts into his mouth. Jason pulls at his nipple, digs the nails in and bucks his hips up at the sensation that shoots through him before he realizes what he's doing and moves his hand down to dig into the meat of his thigh with his nails. He's breathing heavy, like he's just finished running a 10k and he still hasn't touched himself, not really.

He runs his hand up his dick, rests the thickness of it in his palm as he wraps his fingers around it. Let's himself close his eyes again and think about how good it must have felt for Carrie to be filled up with Pat's dick. Feels it twitch and spurt pre-come at the thought of how Pat made her feel. Jason spits in his hand and runs the spit along his cock, imagines the fast and deep pumping of Pat's hips moving in and out of Carrie in tandem with his own hand.

He comes with those thoughts playing a movie behind his eyes, makes himself feel good like he can't stop imagining Carrie felt. Imagines the pleasure that coursed through her as it courses through him too.

He can't stop thinking about that exchange of pleasure as he washes the crusting come on his hand off in his en suite.

Jason can't stand Sammy. She's started sitting with them at lunch, hanging off of Pat, and laughing at everything he says. Her stupid shrill voice is grating on Jason's ears. She's sitting with them again. He can't wait until Pat gets bored of her and moves onto the next blonde bimbo. Maybe she'll be more tolerable. At least the last one had good taste in books. Not that Jason would ever let anybody know he picked up her recommendations. He did though. He doesn't mind Pat's last girlfriend, some chick off of the debate team and marching band. She was the nerdiest girl he's ever seen Pat date. She was pretty in the same way all of the others were. But, unlike the other girlfriends she didn't treat Jason like an accessory and pet. He still talks with her sometimes. Waves hello when he sees her with her massive drum at school assemblies. Sometimes he gets book recommendations off of her. They have surprisingly similar taste. She works at Star's, the music store in town, and the last time that Jason went she introduced him to some new music. He still got the Journey record he wanted but at her behest he picked up a Velvet Underground record too. He likes them even if he can't play all of their songs when Dad and Mom are home. She also told him about Enders Game, the latest book she's been reading. He got it from the library yesterday and he's already finished it. He can't stop reading it. He thinks he'll get some more recommendations from her soon.

He wonders why she and Pat broke up. Why Pat can never seem to keep a girl around for longer than a month, though she seemed to have lasted the longest.

He's long since given into the fact that most nights when the lights go out and the house goes quiet he's sliding his right hand into his hair or up his chest and his left into his shorts. He feels better about it now that he and Chrissy are dating. Have been going steady for almost a year. They haven't had sex yet. He doesn't plan on it. Not until they get married, he can see that in their future—far off future, but until then he has his imagination and his hands.

He can fuck into his hand under the cover of night and blanket and think about the sharp snapping of hips, about plush, soft, familiar lips sliding down the length of his cock. Can think about his hands in dark coils strawberry blonde hair.

He can come thinking about hands gripping his hips, holding him still and guiding his movements.

The three of them—him, Pat, and Chrissy—are hanging out at his house after a Friday practice as per usual. Mom and Dad are out on a date night, and while they'd usually be passing around beer or a joint, it's close to finals. So instead they're studying for their upcoming Physics exam. It'll be the last time they have finals before they graduate and start college.

They all applied for early admission but they won't find out where they're going until the new year, and even if they were accepted somewhere already, they have to keep their grades up. The whole thing has been stressful, but it's been good to plan his life out a little. He still has no idea what he wants to do. All he knows is that he's lost. He's waiting for something to speak to him, but following Dad's path doesn't even fully sound like his calling. It's not that he even finds something wrong with the idea or that it doesn't sit well with him. But he doesn't feel the conviction he knows he should. He thinks that he'd feel like a fraud. He's pretty sure that at this point, he'd feel like a fraud doing anything. Feels like for all that he prays in hopes of finding a direction, God hasn't led him down a path yet. At least not as clear of a path as he'd like.

All he knows is that next year he wants to be in a room with his girl and his best friend. Wants to be lamenting whatever finals they're supposed to be studying for. Wants to give up for the evening and dig a joint out from his drawer, because he'll actually be able to keep them in his and Pat's dorm when they're roommates, and send it on a trip around the little sun that they form—legs over legs over legs.

That hope is a little flame in his chest, one that flares a little stronger as he makes out the bracelet of a bruise that he knows Pat's dad left around his forearm. The one that's no longer hidden as his sleeve has ridden up while they've been hanging out.

Jason's noticed the bruises more, they've gotten more obvious this year. More falls than ever before. He wonders if anybody believes Pat. He hopes they do, otherwise he thinks they may as well be complicit in the marks that run up his body. He wonders what that says about him, about his family. What it says that they avert their gaze. What can he do though short of invite Pat for practices and study sessions, try and make it so he spends as little time as possible at home?

He prays that this time next year, everything will be dandy.

Pat is dating again. For the first time things seem serious and Jason's so happy for him, but he can feel the flame inside him dampen. It's irrational. He's not alone, and he's not lonely. Chrissy is with him. But she too has been a bit withdrawn. Spending more and more time with Robin Buckley. The two of them working on some Senior project. It's irrational because he's happy for her, he's happy for both of them. It's irrational because they've all received their acceptance letters from IU. It's irrational because he and Pat will be living together next year. It's irrational, because Buckley and her boyfriend, Harrington are planning on moving to Berkley next year for school—at least that's what he's gathered from Chrissy. Though she insisted that the two of them aren't dating, but he doesn't buy that for a second. Doesn't understand why a girl like Robin wouldn't jump at the gun for a handsome catch like Harrington.

It's all irrational, he's being irrational. Lately he's feeling cold and small in a way he hasn't felt in forever. Mom says it's the stress. Says to put his trust in God, that He's testing Jason, that He is tempering Jason, preparing him for college.

Jason tries.

It's the first time they've been able to hangout normally in weeks. Chrissy has some family dinner that she has to attend at her Nana Ruth's house so it's just the two of them for the night. It's nice until it isn't. It's perfect, the two of them St. Elmo's Fire, because that's what Jason had, sitting on the couch. He can feel the warmth radiating off of Pat even though they're not touching.

It's the thing he's been craving until he gets back from a quick piss and Pat is wincing, rubbing at his temples, his nose bleeding.

It's the stoking of a fire until it's ice water thrown on charcoal as Pat says he feels like he's going to collapse. Says he's having a migraine that makes his head feel like it's going to explode. Then it's Jason giving him Tylenol and driving him home.

His blood courses through his veins, thumping faster and faster, reaching a pitch as he and Pat run after Munson, diving into the ice cold water of Lovers Lake. He'll be damned if he lets Munson get away. Not after what he's done. He's not like Munson, he doesn't believe in murder, but a rage overtakes him anyways. He won't kill him even if he wants to rip him apart limb by limb for what he's done to Chrissy. His jacket and jeans are heavy in the water as he kicks harder and faster trying to catch up with Munson. He's almost made it to the boat when the motor gives out and then he hears the water behind still. Hears as Pat stops moving. Jason has just enough time to turn around and see Pat get pulled under. It's a quick yank. One second he's there and the next he's gone. He calls after him, panic setting in over the rage.

There's no answer, just the sound of his and Munson's heavy breathing. The sound of blood rushing in his ears.

And then Pat shoots up. Body flying higher and higher until it stops, hangs there like a puppet. It's still for a moment. Quiet.

Pat's bones are breaking, twisting one by one at all odd angles starting with the distal legs and moving up until his jaw snaps with a deafening pop and his body falls. Plummets back into the water to be swallowed.

Jason can't get there fast enough.

He's numb by the time he makes it to the bottom of the lake. He sees Pat there. Sees his limbs tangled in an unholy mess and he can't hold back the vomit. Swims through his own mess and grabs a hold of Pat. He's heavy, so so heavy but Jason manages to pull him up. Munson is gone by the time he makes it up and breaks the water's surface.

The night is still again. Still like everything inside of Jason.

His world shatters, cracks like Pat's bones as he drags his body to shore. The numbness that's been growing all weak has seeped in, has gripped every fiber of his being, tainted all of his cells.

As he sits on the shore by Reefer Rick's house staring blanky at what he cannot see, vision shrouded in tears, hand gripping Pat's cold and mangled one, the devastating loneliness sets in, coats him in rusted silver.

.

                   .

                       .

                               .

                                        .

                                                   .     

                                                               .

                                                                              .

                                                                                                .   

Loneliness is a feeling that he carries with him near everywhere. Even surrounded by sound, by friends, by cheer, by girls, he carries the shroud of loneliness with him. Cannot shirk it no matter what he tries.

There are moments where it passes but it's been getting harder and harder.

Every slap, every crack of Father's belt on his skin, every bruising grip, reinforces it.

Every time he looks into blue eyes and they're not grey enough, they don't get red enough in the cold. Every time the hair is straight, every time it's not sandy, every single damn time it's too long. Every time the legs are shaved, the body is soft. Every time, it's a well of loneliness overflowing. The moments of legs over legs, of reading to one another gone, not to comeback. Every time he's reminded of his short comings, of his unnatural urges, of the fact that the slapping, the beating, all of it is warranted because even though Father does not know what he is, even though Jason cannot know, will not know, should not know, Pat is deserving of the pain, is necessitating of the solitude he feels.

The dreams serve as a reminder, and when Jason warps in them, when his father warps in them. When the gentle caress of a lover he will never have turns to a bruising choke hold, what can Pat do but accept it? It is what he has been molded for over the years.

When Father's hands pull at him, one by one inducing a subluxation of every joint in his body, the last thing he sees are those eyes, the correct shade of grey for once. They're full of pity and disgust and the laugh is alien as he steals Pat's eyes. As his solitude is sealed in the silt at the bottom of Lover's Lake.

Chapter Text

The Seventh Seal: Angel's Trumpets

The Walkman Lucas is grappling for crashes with a roar against the wood of the attic, its plastic casing splintering as Jason slams his foot down atop it. He crushes the tape inside of the Walkman. Forces Lucas down to the ground in a tackle. His jaw opening in an unhinged maw as he barks at the boy in front of him. Needs for him to stop this. Or Jason will put an end to him lest his cult take another innocent.

Lucas's pleas are cut off when the redhead behind him starts snapping, piece by piece.

pop

pop

pop

pop

POP

her neck swivels and heralds an end to percussion of noise.

There's a stunned sort of silence that hangs thick and heavy in the air. Lucas looks as if he's about to vomit, wears the face of a man who has been punched over and over in the gut. It's an expression Jason would recognize plainly if he just calmed down.

And then the moment is gone and the chiming of a clock rings out. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. The trumpets of heaven sing loudly.

The Sixth Seal: Catastrophic Disturbance

It happens at midnight. A young redheaded girl's soul is ripped from her body. She is left a pile of limbs, broken on the ground. And a clock sings its foreboding song four half notes long. The first in atonement of lies, the second in unwavering guilt, the third in solitude, and the fourth an acceptance of one's own mind. The last is the loudest, most discordant one. The one that causes the most pain when heard outright.

It is the one that brings with it a myriad of beautiful changes.

The once blackened sky—so eagerly dull, flashes red as plumes of ashes rise into it.

The chill of the early spring night is chased away with the heat of flames. As though an artist painted them across a blank canvas, lines crack through the earth running in earnest to meet one another.

They split the ground open for all to see the contents just below.

Hawkins is flipped inside out, and the creatures long since kept at bay are woken.

A girl screams, blood streaming from her eyes and nose as she does her best to fight for her friend. She succeeds, guides the redhead back into her body.

Yet the damage has already been done.

The Fifth Seal: Cries of the martyrs:

Jason has viewed himself through a bastardized lens of ironclad rules, beliefs foisted unto him at birth by those who have claimed to love him. And yet, now the unconditional love of his parents has been snuffed out like a flame with water. Jason reasons there's some validity to it. They see him as a monster. He has done monstrous things after all. How can they look him in the eye when they know where his hands have been? Seen the blood that has painted his forearms, the flesh stuck under his claws? If only they knew that before he was this fragmented and stitched back version of himself, before he knew himself, when he still masqueraded as something—someone—that he is not, they would still see him as a monster, as a sick, unnaturally twisted vile creature.

A mother's and father's love ends where a son's lips paste themselves on another boy's.

Mom and Dad have promised him love. They lied.

He is not sure that he can make up for it in their stead with his own.

The others whisper that he needs to try, that it's not his fault any more than it is theirs. Though he reckons, they did not get themselves into this mess. He did.

The whispers remind him that if he cannot try, then at the least he can relish the comfort that comes with a knowing of oneself.

The fourth Horseman—ɥʇɐǝᗡ—ǝɔuɐpᴉoʌ∀

U P S I D E U P

He rushes into the dilapidated and long since abandoned Creel house. The one he's refused to enter on drunken dares for the last few years. The energy of the place has always felt cold and wrong to him. Left him with a scratching raspy sensation in his bones that no amount of stretching helped him shake the sensation away. Looking into the stained glass of the house was like biting into aluminum foil. The Creel house has taunted him over the last few years. Filled him with feelings of unsteadiness that he could not erase, but has been forced to shove down. And now, as he's opening the door, he feels the sour shock of that itch in his bones return.

Andy should be right behind him. He said he'd scare the little girl off. Lucas's little sister. He can't remember her name from their one interaction this week. He remembers her attitude, the accusations dripping from her tongue. He thinks he could find it generally funny, if he weren't the one the venom was brandished at. But if she's a viper when she talks, then she's a useless baby bird outside of that, with her pastels and cutesy hair ties, her just barely five foot height. He struggles to understand why it's taking so long for Andy to follow him into the house. Why Jason cannot hear his footsteps. He takes a beat, waits for him. Refuses to turn his back to the house with it's door open, not when the demonic energy wafts off it in droves.

Andy still doesn't come and the rage inside of Jason shifts, dips darker red, flashes. Coats his eyes and lights the hall just past the open door. He can't help but follow the cherry pitter patter lights in. Like a man in a cartoon drifting in the air on the smell of warm pies.

Jason is a man possessed as he marches up the stairs towards the attic. The joints in his legs click, his jaw grinds, and he makes his way up with all the fluidity of a nutcracker doll.

He sees them, a flicker of movement in the sliver of the doorway. Lucas sits on the ground in silence. In front of him is his ex girlfriend—Jason never caught her name. Jason watches as they undergo whatever ritual it is that they're doing. He cannot seem to make himself move. Frozen in place as the girl begins to unfold, her limbs hanging loose—body drifting up to hang suspended like Pat's had over the choppy water of Lover's Lake.

It takes him a minute but the familiar sight shocks him out of his reverie. His blood pumps harder and he moves with as much speed he can muster. Jason is quick as he runs into the room, despite how leaden his legs feel. The metal of the revolver strapped at his side sears the skin of his hips, burns heavy on his hands as he whips it out.

He's never liked guns, always been bad with them, but after Chrissy's death, after Pat's, after what he's witnessed he knows that this is the only choice. That murderous cultists may see God's mercy but they will not see his. That's why he took Dad's gun before he and Andy left the house today. Why his hands shake as he holds it in front of him, points it at Lucas.

He won't stop the demonic ritual, even with the threat of his life on the line. Instead he lunges punching Jason. Pain ransacks his face as Lucas's fist collides with it. Jason's never been punched before. It's sharp and noxious, the weight behind it desperate as it snaps Jason's head to the side. It'll bruise later, but now it serves to knock Jason off of his guard, he drops the gun as he brings his hand to nurse his cheek on reflex. It's a momentary loss of focus and he recovers. Grapples with Lucas for the gun. He's skinny and an inch shorter than Jason, but he's stronger than Jason thought he'd be. He's able to push Lucas into the boarded up window, but he can't hold him there. Jason's heaving and panting, breath letting out in shudders as Lucas knees him in the thigh. Pain blooms at the rough contact on the sensitive flesh and Jason seethes. He forces Lucas back, drives his fist in hard and clamps his mouth down on a shout as his knuckles graze Lucas's ribs. The younger boy falls to the side at the hit and the Walkman he'd been fumbling to protect shatters.

Jason stomps his foot down atop it, finishes the job. Makes sure that whatever song Lucas needs to play to finish his sacrifice can't be. That the music on the tape will never pierce the light of day. He's gasping on the ground pleading for Jason to stop smashing the tape, when the popping of bones breaking drowns him. Each snap grows buzzing in Jason's ears, a vacuum surrounding him, he feels on the verge of passing out. Like the room is going to fold in on itself.

Maybe it's because he's in this state, with the blood draining from his brain that he doesn't notice it when Lucas gets up. Doesn't notice it until hands are on him, pushing him to the floor. And the ground is cracking under him as the girl falls to the ground in a pile of limbs.

He can't scramble to get up in time and he feels the pressure mounting in his head, breath running short as the crack in the floor boards grows and flows orange, the rift growing wider. Too wide for him to do anything but fall through. Jason digs his fingers in to the floor in front of him, nails biting into the wood. The orange light sears through him. The world flashes white and Jason is dead before the flames spilling out of the crack underneath him sever him fully in half. Before his nails rip out as the top half of his body follows his lower half into the hole that's formed where the house has split down past the foundation

N M O ᗡ Ǝ ᗡ I S Ԁ ∩

Cherry red lightning's been streaking across the sky, flashing up almost perfectly on-beat—putting on free supernatural lights show for Eddie's one-man concert. He's only just learned the song he's stupidly decided to play, and he's put almost every free second of the last few weeks getting it perfect. For a second there he thought Steve was actually going to full on throttle him—choke him out and not in the sexy way—last week when the womp… womp womp womp of Master of Puppets leaked into the rhythm of Eddie's hips as he fucked into Steve.

He thinks it's not worth it to have spent so much of his time learning the song, have it take up his entire life, not when if he hadn't been bursting to play it, he and Dustin could have set up a robust speaker system and some human-shaped pillows as decoys. Because sure the thrill of playing his guitar in a literal hellscape and giving everyone the perfect soundtrack for an epic showdown, ran through him like a hit of epinephrine straight to the veins as he was shredding on the roof of his trailer. But now the adrenaline has curdled because the bats won't stop barreling onto the trailer. Their wings beating and claws scratching the metal walls. He feels like his stomach is about to fall out of his ass, and the near orgasmic rush from earlier is building a pit inside of him, growing hungrier to swallow him whole the longer he and Dustin try to wait it out.

They don't have much time, and he knows the choice he's making is beyond positively stupid, but he can't let anything happen to Dustin, and he's almost confident in his ability to run. He's only had his entire life to hone it.

Eddie feels like an asshole, the lowest of the low as he cuts the makeshift rope they've been using to traverse dimensions. His stomach twists into a neat little knot as Dustin screams down at him. He's about to respond, say something— he doesn't know what— but there's a raucous crash behind him.

A vent from the side has been torn off of its hinges, the meat of the wall gone with it. There's a moment where nothing happens. and the trailer is still. But it's short lived and just as Eddie moves towards the door, running before he's even realized it.

He's got the door ripped open when the withered leather body of the bat rises up, out from under the vent it knocked out of the wall. Eddie just stares at it for a second, stomach acid percolating its way to his mouth. And then it screeches—breaks the stare down and Eddie's feet kick in again, his upper half still turned towards the bat, eyes fixed on its razor-sharp teeth glinting red under the lightning outside.

His feet pound the decaying grass, ripping out chunks as he sprints away from the trailer. He doesn't look back. Doesn't see the cloud of demo bats still torpedoing into the trailer. But he doesn't need to see them to know that the hive mind of bats will trigger any second now. He picks up an abandoned bike by Ms. Corsa's trailer, and hops on, the coordinated flutter and flapping of dried leather is loud as thunder behind him. And the bats are fast in their direction change, faster as they pursue him single mindedly— a miniature tornado after him.

Eddie's more than halfway across the field outside the trailer park, a breath away from the cover of trees when the bats catch up. One knocks him off the bike, launching him to the side. Eddie tries to get his spear and makeshift shield up, but they're too little too late and do nothing to stop the oncoming onslaught. Hundreds of bats swoop in and tear at him. Their teeth ripping his skin and clothes to shreds alike and the pain is unlike anything he's ever felt.

He's cut himself before, the slip of a knife when peeling a potato. He knows the pain of a fist bludgeoning him in a back alley, in his own home. But the bats teeth are sharper than any knife he's ever held, and they must be coated with venom because every tear they make in his flesh, exposing the meat underneath, burns and sizzles and worms its way deeper and deeper to the bone. It's a snap crackle pop, a crepitus that weighs heavy on his chest, more encumbering than the pain of the bite. Eddie tries to scream, to beg for mercy, but it's all too much and the bleed of noise from his lips is weak, aborted because he is too breathless to make sound. Not enough air to rattle his vocal cords.

He thinks that it goes on forever, the bats have made an all you can eat buffet of his body and he doesn't understand why he won't just die. It can't be natural to still be alive, surely the shock should win out and his heart's gotta stop at some point.

He doesn't hear the clock chime, but he registers when the hundreds of bodies drop around him. They hit the grass with a ploomph.

By the time Dustin's made his way over to Eddie, every breath in and out rattles his chest. The taste of copper dust thick on his tongue. Dustin's crying over him, begging and pleading and Eddie's doing his best to hold on. Because he's spent his whole life out running the vast majority of his problems and the one time he's really needed to, he wasn't fast enough. He needs to not be so fast to rush into death. Eddie needs to wait for Steve. Needs to at the very least say goodbye to him.

It's cold though, despite the burn in his flesh and he knows what that means. So he tells Dustin the words he knows Steve needs to hear. Says, "I love you," because it's better to say it to the wrong person and mean it, than not say it at all.

His heart hiccups on the last word and the blood tastes stronger in his mouth, thicker. And then, he's gone.

Resurrection:

"38 Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. 39 “Take away the stone,” he said.

“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”

40 Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

41 So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. 42 I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

43 When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” 44 The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”"

- John 11:38-44

The boy's remains lie next to him when Henry wakes. Split in half. The bloodied and charred torso on one side of him, legs on the other.

Henry stands over the boy's chewed up remains. He's been drained of blood, veins pumped black, already claimed from the venom imbued with each bite and pucker of his skin.

The misguided children did a number on him and rising from the ground is not an entirely effortless task. Nonetheless Henry does it. Seethes about the lapse in judgement, the weakness. He will not make the same mistake twice.

Eleven has her pets, Henry will have his.

The vines bend to his whims, twist and drag the boy back together. They glue him where he's split. Henry does the rest, breathes the life back into him. He leaves him changed. A seam like stitches lives in him. Henry gifts him the chance to split himself on his own terms. Grants him new nails, sharper and stronger, lets them grow into claws if the boy wills it. He can see the boy's desires, the desperation that has driven him. He gives him a mercy. He will join the other two he so wants and needs to be with. The girl with a life of lies and the boy who always feels deep solitude.

The venom the bats gave the boy in exchange for his blood has done most of Henry's work for him. He tweaks small things as he runs through that entertaining brain of his. Laughs a little at the memories of the character the boy called Kas in his life. All things considered, a vampire seems fitting for this boy. Henry gives him the pointed ears, the retractable fangs, and the claws to slice prey. Leaves him with leathery wings and a tail embed with retractable spikes. He is ready to join his new friends.

The boy is breathing now, all put back together. He's a bit of a patchwork quilt in the way that's he's sewn. The way he can now rearrange himself. Henry makes sure to keep a lock and key on his thoughts. He lets those emotions play at the foreground of all that the boy is, kept muted only by what Henry transmits to him.

The boy is breathing now, scarred but made anew. Henry makes sure to keep a lock and key on his thoughts. It's harder to find the right emotions for this one but he zones in and dials up the need to survive and the zest for dramatic flair-—thinks it will make his punishment for Eleven all the more enjoyable. He lets those characteristics play at the foreground of all that the boy is, kept muted only by what Henry transmits to him.