Age: 23
Pronouns: They/Them
Interests: Anything horror, really
This is a sideblog for my writing, mostly. Maybe even some fanart, we’ll see. But I may reblog other stuff too.
CURRENTLY WRITING: World of Chaos [AO3]
This is my personal space. I will post or reblog NSFW content. This includes gore and topics that may make others [especially minors] uncomfortable. I can’t control who interacts with this blog but if you’re a minor, just know I’m not entirely comfortable with you interacting with my posts.
NOTE: DO NOT FEED MY WRITING TO AI. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO FEED ANY OF MY WORK INTO AI, DON'T FUCKING DO IT.
SUMMARY: Tim and Chris successfully manage to stage Rand's suicide, and Tim gets more than just a 4.0 as his reward. [Part 1] [AO3 link]
MAIN PAIRING: Tim x Chris
CONTENT WARNING(S): Smut, blowjobs, slight degradation kink, use of the f-slur (sorry, only happens once)
NOTES: This ran away from me.
WORD COUNT: 5.4k
"You asshole!"
Tim doesn't even have to look up from his book to know what's coming to him. He looks up anyway to see Emma marching over to him, her eyes gleaming with anger as a scowl paints her face. She stops short of his table, her fists balled at her sides and her hair falling over her face just enough to obscure it from any outside observers. Tim figures this is what he gets for choosing a corner seat in the library.
"You told the detectives I had something to do with Natalie's suicide?" she hisses.
Well. Straight to the point. Admirable, Tim has to admit.
"Hi Emma, I'm fine, how are you?"
Emma flinches and looks around, worry momentarily etched into her face as she searches for anyone who might be listening in. The worry dissolves as she turns back to Tim. Her glare bores into him and he's sure that if the two weren't in easily accessible public setting, she'd be throttling his throat right about now. Which sounds better to Tim if it were Chris instead of Emma doing the throttling.
"Cut the shit! What is wrong with you?!"
Tim sets his book flat on the table, never once breaking eye contact with her. A smile forms on his face as he leans in closer to her, an action that causes her to recoil slightly.
"They offered you the 4.0 too, huh?" Emma narrows her eyes but doesn't respond, which makes Tim smile wider. "Probably thinkin' to yourself that it sounds like a good deal, right? Gets you into Harvard Medical School like you wanted without the hassle—"
"I knew it—"
Tim laughs and waggles a finger in her face, which she slaps away. "I bet you're mad you didn't think about it first!"
"You're insane."
Tim shrugs and places his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not the one who faked the pregnancy test, now am I?"
Emma's face drops and Tim bites his tongue as he watches the color drain from her face. That's all the confirmation he needs to know that he was right all along. Because really, it hadn't been hard to read between the lines of Shipper's questions. Natalie hadn't been pregnant, and the only person who could have possibly verified that besides Natalie herself was Emma. It's not Tim's fault that Emma hadn't thought that part out ahead of time.
"Well," she says, her face tight with annoyance. "At least they found my roommate's body."
Ah. The only tangible thing Emma had against Tim. It didn't give her too much of an advantage over him, but it did irk him more than he cared to admit. He smiles up at her and holds a hand out.
"Truce?" he whispers, keenly aware of the library doors slamming shut. It was clear they needed to cut their conversation short.
Emma pauses then, glancing between his hand and his face, clearly weighing her options. Her lips form a tight-lipped frown as she grabs his hand, which Tim enthusiastically shakes. She yanks her hand away and starts to walk away, but Tim grabs her arm and pulls her down just enough so that he can lean up to whisper in her ear.
"And stay away from Chris. Or else Rand won't be the only one missing by the end of the month."
Tim lets Emma go and the fear in her eyes is enough to make him chuckle. She sprints off, leaving Tim alone in the corner once more. He decides he's had enough of pretending to be productive and packs up his things.
The sky is littered with brilliant hues of pinks and oranges as he walks out, and the trees sway in a gentle, warm breeze that strokes his face as it passes by. He stops momentarily over the set of concrete stairs leading him down to the courtyard and breathes in deeply, letting the air fill his lungs until his chest hurts and he feels like he'll go dizzy if he holds it in any longer. Despite the uncertainties, Tim has never felt more sure that things will end up going his way. He lets his mind wander as he starts walking again, and suddenly he's thinking about Chris and his soft laughs and warm eyes.
Damn it.
Make no mistake, Tim had no real shame in harboring these feelings for his roommate turned accomplice. Secrecy had been his first lover, after all, and hiding behind masks had always been relatively easy. Rather, he was sure Chris would, if he felt even remotely the same. Tim couldn't blame him, not really. The guy had worked so hard to make a name for himself, coming from nothing, and Tim couldn't imagine he'd throw it all away for, what, a crush?
Then again, Tim reminds himself, he did help murder Rand.
Of course, Tim couldn't be sure Chris felt the same. But he'd also thought Chris was too soft to follow through on his threats until this all happened. Sure, Chris was on the verge of having breakdowns every day, but clearly — and this the important part — he wouldn't have thought twice about it if everything had gone off without a single hitch. Because Tim knows that the second they find Rand's body, Chris will go right back to being his normal, easygoing self. Go right back to being shy and nice Chris who crinkles his nose when he Tim tells a stupid joke, who rolls his eyes when Tim gets a little too drunk but still bothers to take care of him, who stares at Tim's back a little too long when he gets dressed.
There's no way he's not a fag, Tim reassures himself.
The ground beneath him gives way and Tim stops to look down at the grass he's now walking in. He glances around and finds himself near the lighthouse path, and he snorts as he walks towards it. He momentarily wonders if he'll be able to spot Rand's body stuck on a rock over the cliff's edge, but those thoughts are immediately halted when his eyes land on a familiar figure sitting aways from the cliff's edge with a beer in hand. He smiles and lets out a low whistle.
"Hey muchacho!" he calls out.
Chris flinches and looks up, panic riddled, before letting out a sigh of relief as his shoulders drop. A small smile forms on his face as Tim approaches and it's enough to send Tim's heart racing.
"Hey, Tim."
"Chris, my man!" Tim sits down right beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. He buries half of his face into Chris' hair and points to the bottle. "What are we celebrating?"
Chris chuckles, and man has Tim missed that sound. Chris doesn't reply right away, instead taking another swig from the bottle and staring out into the river. Tim is tempted to ask Chris again, but in a rare moment of calm, he finds himself following Chris' gaze and watching the sun dance on the horizon. The silence is comfortable and he finds himself wishing to have more of these moments. Wishing to have more of Chris all to himself.
Tim isn't sure how long they stay like that, but it's long enough that the sun is nearly completely gone and the breeze is beginning to bite at their cheeks. Tim moves to stand, but is stopped by Chris holding onto him.
"I have good news," Chris murmurs, moving his head to make eye contact with Tim. Their lips are fairly close like this.
Tim leans back and raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah buddy?"
Chris nods and smiles. "They found Rand's body."
Tim is so relieved that he could scream for joy, but he settles on a wide smile instead. "They did? See!" He shakes Chris' shoulders and laughs. "I told you, his body was probably stuck on a tire or something."
"It actually just floated down further down than they thought."
Tim scoffs. "Of course it did. Rand was always a bit of an airhead."
Chris laughs and takes another sip from his beer. Tim gently squeezes his shoulders and motions out to the river.
"Told you everything would work out for us, buddy. Next up: Harvard."
Chris holds the bottle out to Tim, who grabs it and takes a long swig. From the corner of his eye, he can see Chris staring at him with an unreadable expression. Tim holds the bottle back out to Chris, who gently takes it from his hand, their fingers brushing ever so slightly. His eyes never leave Tim and something about his gaze makes Tim feel…seen.
Tim averts his gaze, despite not wanting to. The sky was a deep indigo now. Another minute or so and the light from the lighthouse would sweep over them, and that idiot security guard would probably be making his rounds soon after, but Tim couldn't find it within himself to care all too much. Aside from the cold beginning to creep up on them, but Chris hadn't looked too bothered.
Obviously from the alcohol, Tim realizes.
As if reading his mind, Tim feels a bottle being pushed into his hands. Tim glances over to see Chris tossing his empty beer bottle over the cliff side before pulling out another bottle — tequila, he recognizes — from his backpack. Tim laughs as he realizes that he is also holding a tequila bottle.
"When'd you get all these, buddy?"
"Right after hearing the good news, buddy."
Tim gently shoves Chris and the two open their bottles together. Tim raises his in the air and sees Chris smirking up at him.
"To Rand! Our great friend who's getting us into Harvard, baby! Wooo!"
Chris laughs and shakes his head but raises his bottle in toast with him. They clink their bottles together and drink, the tequila stinging the back of Tim's throat on the way down. He lifts his lips from the bottle and looks up into the sky, now littered with a few scattered stars in the early night. Tim wasn't much of a star gazer — or much of a nature enjoyer, really — but he could admit that they looked rather pretty tonight.
They fell into a comfortable silence again, taking swigs from their bottles as the light from the lighthouse illuminated them every so often. Tim could feel Chris' gaze on him but every time he glanced over, Chris' gaze was out to the river. He'd sit there, his eyes tracing the outline of his lips, and feel the ache in his chest rise. He got halfway through his bottle before the warmth got the best of him.
"You know," Tim starts slow, his thoughts swimming around trying to form a coherent thought. "I've never trusted anybody in my whole life." He lets out a bitter laugh, then, but continues talking. "I'm just a casualty of the upper class, and then…and then this thing comes along, this thing that completely and totally relies on us trusting each other. And you trust me and I, dude—" Tim reaches out and pulls Chris back into a hug, burying his face in his hair again, "—I totally, completely give you all of my trust. I never had anybody like that in my life." The light from the lighthouse sweeps over them and Tim briefly sees Chris frowning at him. He can't tell if it's a trick of the light. "And you stuck with me all the way to the end. God. I've never had anybody like that in my life."
Tim takes another sip from his bottle and stares down at his feet. He's vaguely aware that he's said something that he probably shouldn't have, something he definitely can't take back unless he wants to blame it on the alcohol — which he's fully prepared to do — but his mouth is working faster than his brain can keep up with so he still can't get himself to stop talking.
"I'm sorry, I've never had a real friend before...I'm glad you're here with me."
It's as much of the truth as Tim's body is able to handle admitting. His head feels fuzzy and his movements sluggish, but he manages to look up at Chris, who is suddenly closer than Tim remembers him being just a second ago. Tim's eyes drift down to Chris' lips, and before he can stop himself, he leans in and presses his lips firmly against Chris'. He feels Chris tense against him briefly before he grabs Tim's face and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. A soft moan escapes from Tim as he pulls Chris into his lap. The tequila bottles drop to the ground, spilling their last excuses onto the grass, and Chris gasps as Tim wraps his arms around him. Chris pulls away, much to Tim's disappointment, and stares at Tim. The light sweeps over them and Chris can see that Tim is staring back at him with an intense hunger in his eyes that unnerves him a little.
They stay in that position, breathing hard, and Chris' brain finally catches up to him.
"What are we doing?" he asks, averting his gaze and moving to roll off Tim's lap. Tim keeps him in place, a short huff escaping him.
"This would be called making out, Chris."
Chris scoffs. "I'm not gay."
His voice is strained as he says it, like the word is resisting against his throat and holding his breath hostage, and he's still not meeting Tim's eyes. It's a weak attempt at self-preservation, Tim knows. He lightly laughs and places his fingers under Chris' chin, gently lifting it so that Chris is making eye contact with him again.
"Then why'd you let me kiss you?"
Chris doesn't reply. The light reveals that he's frowning, and Tim recognizes the frown as the kind that's reserved for deep thought, the kind that usually appears when Chris is overthinking the solution to what is effectively a simple problem. Although in this case, the problem was non-existent, but Tim knew better than to point that out.
Tim strokes Chris' cheek, bringing him back to their reality. Chris opens his mouth to say something but Tim gently shushes him.
"When's the last time you let yourself have a little fun, huh?"
Chris swallows hard, and Tim feels a hand on his chest. He grins and slides his hands down Chris' sides, causing him to shiver. The reaction pulls out another chuckle out of Tim.
"Atta boy," he purrs, massaging gentle circles into Chris' hips. Chris lets out a shaky breath and Tim can feel his grin growing at seeing how easily he affects Chris.
Tim pulls Chris' hips closer to him, their bodies now flush so he can feel their growing hard-ons through their shorts, and presses another kiss to his lips. Chris returns the kiss with a soft moan, the sound going straight to Tim's dick, and when Tim licks his bottom lip, Chris shows little resistance to granting him access. His tongue explores this newfound territory and eventually settles for interlocking with Chris', just as Chris wraps his arms around Tim's neck and gently pushes him back. Tim lets himself fall back and bucks his hips. Chris lets out a groan and grinds against him, the movement slow and unsteady, almost like he's still trying to decide if he really wants this as much as his body does. Tim breaks the kiss to flip them over, and Chris lets out a faint whine in protest.
Tim isn't sure he remembers the last time he's ever practiced this much self-restraint, because as he looks down at Chris, his lips parted and his eyes half-lidded as his hands find their way to Tim's hair, he fights the urge to rip off all their clothes and fuck him right then. No, he needs to take his time, make sure Chris won't back out at the last minute and blame everything on the alcohol in a panic. The last thing Tim wants is to be associated with regret.
Tim slips his hand down Chris' shorts and lets his fingers search for the base of Chris' dick, letting the needy heat practically radiating off of it guide him. They don't search for long, he finds, and as they wrap around its girth, he can practically feel it throbbing as the precum drips down its length. Tim can only imagine the mess Chris has made of himself in his boxers and the thought sends his cock protesting its restraints. Tim notices Chris bite his lip, and he lets his lips ghost over Chris' neck, pressing soft kisses as he gives an experimental tug. The reaction is instant, with Chris' hips stuttering up into his touch as he sucks in a shuddering breath. Tim gently sinks his teeth into Chris' neck as he gives another tug, and the low moan Chris lets out as his hands fist Tim's hair nearly sends Tim over the edge.
Fuck, he's needed this.
He starts off slow, allowing himself to feel the weight of it in his hands as he finds the perfect rhythm for Chris. He leeches on his neck, biting and sucking right above his collarbone, and chuckles in amusement as Chris can't seem to figure out what to do with his hands. First they're gripping his air, then clinging to his shoulders, before one of them finally runs down Tim's chest and palms his crotch. Tim can't stop the needy moan that escapes him and immediately pins his other hand over his head, lining up his lips with Chris' ear.
"Eager, are we?"
Tim fully expects Chris to shy away in embarrassment but is pleasantly surprised when Chris bucks his hips into his fist, a faint whine escaping him as he paws at his crotch again. Tim lets go of Chris' cock — which he practically whimpers at, and it's a sound that Tim would very much like to hear come out of him again — and pins his other hand above his head. He then yanks Chris' shorts down, his boxers coming down with them, and Tim finds it endearing to see Chris lift his hips to help get them off. Chris spreads his legs a little wider, Tim unsure if the movement is accidental or not but incredibly appreciative of the pretty view Chris has granted him.
The lighting does him no justice, and for a second Tim mildly regrets choosing the cliff side to get it on, but forces himself back into the moment as he drinks in the sight of Chris' cock, pink and glistening as more precum leaks from the tip. It's full and long, something he'd already figured out when he'd held it in his hand, but it still manages to make Tim pause. He feels his mouth water and realizes that he's left his friend hanging for too long.
Tim glances up and locks eyes with Chris, whose furrowed brows make it clear to Tim that he needs to keep the show going, and leans down with a wolfish grin near the tip of his cock. Tim had only ever been on the receiving ends of blowjobs but he figures he's eaten enough popsicles in his life to figure it out. It's not rocket science, he figures, and the pleading look in Chris' eyes is all the encouragement he needs to follow through. He slowly flicks his tongue over the tip of Chris' cock, earning a choked gasp from him, and licks the whole length of it before swallowing him. The sound that escapes from Chris is beautiful, so needy and soft, that Tim has to stop himself from devouring the whole thing right then and there. Chris' hands squirm against Tim's grip and he can't help but laugh. The vibrations must feel great for Chris, judging from the moan he lets out.
God, Chris was going to be the death of Tim, he's sure of it.
Tim pauses for a moment just to tease Chris, only taking more of his length after hearing him whine. The scent of tequila is stronger here, mixing with the faint scent of the bar of soap that Chris uses for his showers — had Chris showered today? — and Tim faintly wonders if some of it had managed to mix with his precum. He wasn't as salty as he had expected, at least, but he was far from sweet. Still, it was a taste Tim knew he'd be savoring for a while.
Chris bucks his hips once more into Tim's mouth and Tim pins his hips down as he slowly bobs his head, sucking and swirling his tongue along the shaft. Chris looks so pretty like this, his face flush red and his pants and moans falling easy from his lips as he throws his head back. Oh what Tim would give to have this view all to himself, to have Chris just like this whenever he wanted. The sight (and thought) makes Tim's cock throb painfully in his shorts, protesting their lack of attention, so Tim slowly pulls away, Chris' cock slipping past his lips with a wet pop, and lets go of him.
Chris glances up, his brows knit together in confusion, and watches as Tim fumbles with the button on his shorts. Chris sits up and helps Tim tug his shorts free, freeing Tim's cock, the cold air providing much needed relief to the heat that's been building. Tim looks back at Chris and sees his eyes are blown wide, glued to his rock-hard cock, and his lips parted. Tim gently lifts his chin again.
"Let's see what else that pretty little mouth of yours can do," Tim murmurs, and he has to actively stop himself from laughing as Chris glances nervously back at Tim's cock. He knew he was packing, being bigger than Chris, and he hadn't had any complaints yet. Here's to hoping he could keep that streak going.
Chris licks his lips as he gets on his knees. Tim fully expects him to hesitate and give kitten licks but is caught off-guard when Chris takes every inch of Tim's cock in his mouth, the tip of it brushing against the back of his throat. A startled gasp escapes Tim before he can stop it, and Chris immediately backs away, concern laced in his eyes as he looks up at Tim.
"Sorry—"
"Holy shit!" Tim laughs, his eyes widening incredulously. "You fucking whore, you've been holding out on me!" Tim places his hands on either side of Chris' face, who's face is flushed with embarrassment. "You're gonna take every inch of me like the filthy little slut that you are."
Tim notices Chris' dick twitch at the pet name and feels his excitement build at finding yet another thing to exploit Chris with. He taps the bottom of Chris' chin before bringing his head closer to his aching cock. Chris opens his mouth and swallows Tim's cock whole without much complaint, and the tight warmth of his mouth makes Tim feel a little dizzy now that the shock has passed. He gently strokes Chris' hair before burying his fingers in it and glances down at him expectantly.
Whereas Tim was teasingly gentle with Chris, Chris is unforgivably rough with Tim. He grips onto Tim's hips as he bobs his head, sucking and licking like he needed Tim's cock just as badly as he needed air to breathe. And fuck, maybe he did, and Tim would eagerly let Chris have him. Tim's tugging at Chris' hair now, watching him hollow out his cheeks just to tease out louder moans from him, and damn it does Tim regret not having come onto Chris sooner. He would've killed Rand off two semesters ago if it meant he'd have had access to the best mouth on all of campus just for himself.
Tim was beginning to understand why Emma had been so desperately annoyed with him.
He shakes his head, trying to focus back on the matter at hand. Tim grips Chris' head and thrusts into his mouth, forcing Chris to gag on his cock. He falters for a second just as Chris' jaw goes slack. He feels a gentle squeeze on his hips and takes it as his cue to keep going, proceeding to face fuck Chris at a devastatingly rough pace.
"Yeah that's right, you take me, you big girl! Fucking slut."
Tim doesn't really register what's coming out of his mouth, too focused on watching Chris gag and hearing him moan on his cock to care. Chris looks good like this, looks good taking him just how he likes it, and Tim doesn't realize just how much it turns him on until he feels a familiar pressure build in his cock. He gives a few more hard thrusts before feeling the sweet release of his orgasm roll through and Chris, sweet, beautiful Chris dutifully swallows every drop.
That realization alone gets Tim hard all over again.
He slowly pulls out of Chris' mouth, another whine escaping Chris. The sound once again goes straight to his dick. He sees a dribble of cum trail down Chris chin, which he slowly wipes away with two fingers and spreads across Chris' lips. Chris parts his mouth again and Tim slowly inserts his fingers, his eyes watching as Chris gently sucks on them, swirling his tongue between them.
How did Tim get so lucky?
The groans Chris lets out are quieter, more raw, and Tim is beginning to find that he enjoys every sound that comes out of him. Not to anyone's surprise, of course. It's at this moment that Tim notices that Chris is stroking himself as he licks at his fingers, his cock weeping, leaving his hands slick with his own precum. Tim feels an ache in his chest seeing him like that and stills his hand. Chris makes a confused sound, which Tim found oddly adorable. He pushes Chris into the grass, pulling his fingers out of his mouth, and circles a finger around the rim of his hole, forcing a shuddering breath out of Chris. Tim slips a finger in and is met with little resistance. The thought of how many other guys Chris might've been fucked by before him crosses his mind briefly, but it vanishes the second he hears Chris groan.
Chris clings to Tim as he adds another finger, balling Tim's shirt in his fists as Tim stretches and works his fingers. Tim realizes he'd rather feel Chris' hands on him, so he momentarily pulls his fingers out to toss his shirt aside, the cool air feeling wonderfully pleasant against his hot skin. Chris follows his precedent, throwing his nearby, and Tim feels a flutter in his chest at the sight. There weren't enough words to express how desperately he needed this man.
Tim's fingers re-enter Chris' hole, this time with the addition of a third, and Chris whimpers as he wraps his legs around Tim's waist. Tim can see beads of sweat forming on Chris' forehead and feels drops trickle down his face. When did it get so hot? If Tim weren't so focused on the sounds coming out of Chris' mouth, he probably would've found a way to be embarrassed or annoyed about it.
"Look at you being a whore," Tim pants, pressing his fingers against a particular spot that brings out a loud moan out of Chris. Tim stills his fingers, and Chris whimpers again and wiggles his hips, desperately trying to create friction in that pleasurable spot Tim had found. God, he looks so pathetic like this and Tim has never been more turned on in his life. Tim teases Chris by gently pressing against the bundle of nerves again, coaxing out another desperate moan. "Such a pretty fucking whore."
Tim's tempted to add in another finger, just to see if his mewls will go any higher, but reminds himself that he'd prefer Chris cum from his cock, not his fingers. He reaches his free hand down to his cock, feeling it still slick from Chris' spit and his own spend, and finds he's too impatient to keep teasing him. He retracts his fingers, much to Chris' momentary disappointment, and lifts Chris' legs over his shoulders. He swears Chris stops breathing in that moment. Tim rubs his tip over Chris hole, the warmth of it beckoning his cock to fill it, and after he hears Chris let out a huff, he pushes himself in.
And holy shit.
Tim grunts as Chris' hole stretches to fit him, and Chris lets out a moan that's ripped straight from Tim's late night fantasies. It's a heady and desperate sound that's somehow more pathetic than his previous moans, and it only grows louder with every inch Chris takes of Tim's cock. It's much tighter than Chris' mouth was and intoxicatingly warm, sending a wave of pleasure through Tim's body that leaves him worrying that he'll cum without even having to move inside of him. He's panting softly now, gripping onto Chris' hips so tightly that he knows they'll be bruised come tomorrow morning. The thought makes his chest swell with pride, but he doesn't get to enjoy it for long as he hears Chris murmur something under his breath.
"What?" Tim manages, and Chris lets out a heavy sigh, clearly trying to string together a coherent sentence. Tim can't imagine it's easy when you have a dick shoved up your ass.
"M-More," Chris begs, wiggling his hips again. "Need more…"
Tim chuckles and presses in further. It feels heavenly, even better than he could have ever imagined, and even better than any chick he's ever fucked. Tim figures it feels better on Chris' end, judging from how strong his grip was on Tim's shoulders and how tightly his eyes were shut. And as if Chris couldn't get any tighter, Tim feels him clench around his cock and fuck, he's seeing stars. A shaky groan erupts from Tim's throat as he hovers over Chris and he shoots a weak glare at him. Chris lets out a breathy laugh and relaxes.
"You're lucky you're fucking cute," Tim warns. Chris laughs again, and Tim responds by burying the remaining inches of his cock deep inside of Chris. Chris screams then as he throws his head back to face the heavens, his back arching and his nails digging into Tim's back. Tim bites his lip and grinds his hips against Chris, prompting another yelp out of him as tears stream down his face. "Needy little slut."
Tim slowly pulls his dick out until only his tip remains in Chris, and before Chris can gather himself to speak, Tim slams back in, hitting Chris' prostate dead on.
"Oh fuck, Tim!"
Tim immediately stills, panting hard. He was no stranger to hearing his own name moaned during sex but the sheer desire laced in Chris' frantic voice was making Tim's head spin.
"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," Tim mutters before grinding his hips again. Chris lets out a pleased gasp and Tim starts to thrust at a steady pace. He keeps his eyes trained on Chris, transfixed on the sight of him wrapped tight around him and losing himself in his arms. It definitely did wonders for Tim's ego, and as he quickened his pace, he latched onto Chris' neck again, biting and licking the skin Chris granted him access to (which happened to be most of it, unsurprisingly).
With each thrust, Chris' dick slaps against Tim's stomach. Tim reaches down and wraps his hand around it, and that sends Chris over the edge. His back arches as he lets out a final moan, white ropes of cum splashing against Tim's chest and dripping down Tim's hand. His body trembles as Tim adjusts the angle before brutally slamming into his ass, chasing his own orgasm. He cums shortly after, painting Chris' insides with a groan as he collapses on top of him.
Tim glances down at Chris, who looks breathtakingly spent with the shiny sheen of sweat making him glow, and Tim tries to commit the image to his memory, to etch it forever behind his eyes so he carries it with him for the rest of his life. He wishes to stay in this moment a little while longer, just to share his breaths with Chris and have the undivided attention he'd needed all his life from someone who wants him.
He leans down and kisses Chris, slow and gentle, and as Chris pulls Tim impossibly closer to return the kiss, Tim decides he'll stay by Chris' side for as long as he'll let him. They won't ever have to put a name to it if Chris didn't want to, keep things simple and clean for the two of them. It'd just be another secret that they'll share between them and the stars.
SUMMARY: Tim and Chris successfully manage to stage Rand's suicide, and Tim gets more than just a 4.0 as his reward. [Part 2] [AO3 link]
MAIN PAIRING: Tim x Chris
CONTENT WARNING(S): N/A
NOTES: Takes place some time after the first interrogation Tim and Chris have with the detectives.
WORD COUNT: 3.1k
The plan was simple. Tim would put a little something in Rand's drink, push him off the cliff's edge, and leave the note behind. He and Chris would get their 4.0s for the semester and a one-way ticket into Harvard. It was perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
For one, Rand's body hadn't been found yet, and that detail was beginning to stress Chris out beyond reasonable doubt. There were only so many times he could come up with an excuse that didn't make him look suspicious, and although it had initially been incredibly amusing to watch him squirm, Tim was beginning to think that Chris would squeal if he didn't do something about it fast.
Then there was Emma, who was proving to be a bigger pain in the ass than he'd initially anticipated. He knew that dating one of the suspects would make her a liability once the cops came around, so he had Chris swear he wouldn't tell her. Clearly, he'd stayed true to his word, but that was unfortunately causing relationship problems that Tim couldn't give less of a fuck about.
Such as now.
Emma sat across from him in the cafe the group used to frequent before Rand's death. She was currently droning on about how Chris wasn't talking to her, wasn't getting it up for her when she wanted, and other things that Tim was trying really hard to block out. He briefly wonders if letting her in on the secret would save him, but then he reminds himself that he saw her talking really closely with one of the guys in one of her classes and that it would be in his best interest to break them up anyway, to save both his and Chris' sanity. And definitely not for any other reasons.
"Emma, have you thought about the fact that Chris and I just lost our good friend, Rand?" he interrupts, his irritation getting the best of him. He briefly massages his forehead as she abruptly stops talking, her expression equally annoyed. "Can't some guys grieve their friend in peace?"
"You're not the only one who lost someone," Emma states simply.
Tim rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Please. You hated Rand."
"I was talking about Natalie, you asshole."
Natalie. Truth be told, Natalie had been an afterthought to the whole plan, especially since her unplanned pregnancy hadn't exactly thrown a wrench into things. He couldn't imagine she'd be that devastated, though, as he distinctly remembers the cold attitude she had the morning after Rand hadn't shown up.
"I didn't think she'd stick around after calling him an asshole," Tim says honestly, leaning back in his seat. "How is she?"
Emma frowns and crosses her arms. "Oh, now you care? Honestly, Tim, you are such—"
"Oh, don't give me that! You're the one who brought her up!" Tim suddenly leans forward, squinting his eyes at Emma. She doesn't react. "Hey, shouldn't you be with her right now? Consoling her over her dead boyfriend—"
"She wanted to be left alone," she hisses, staring him down. "Just like Chris does, apparently."
Tim groans and buries his face in his hands. Of course they'd managed to circle back to Chris. Unfortunately, he'd had enough of this conversation, so he stands and leans in real close to Emma's face.
"If it bothers you so much, just break up with him. He doesn't need a whiny girlfriend begging him to fuck her while he's depressed over his friend's suicide."
Tim leaves, booking it down the stairs and all the way back to his dorm. He's sure that he'll have to put up with Chris complaining about it later, but it was a sacrifice current Tim was willing to make to end the pointless conversation. He decides he'll go to the library and pretend to study while he's there, so he only enters the room to collect his bag and some books before heading back out. He doesn't notice the officers watching him from afar.
When Tim walks into the dorm later that night, he notices Chris sitting in a chair by the coffee table. He bee-lines it to the restroom just as Chris starts talking.
"We need to talk."
Tim can hear the stress in his voice and braces himself for another one of Chris' breakdowns. He talks as he unzips his pants. "About what, buddy?"
"What the fuck is going on?"
Well. The anger in Chris' tone wasn't entirely unwarranted but Tim couldn't help but tease him anyway.
"Uh, well this would be called taking a piss," Tim laughs.
"Natalie's dead."
Tim pauses. Another thing he hadn't fully accounted for. He immediately thinks back to Emma claiming Natalie wanted to be alone and makes a mental note to check up on her later.
"Okay," he starts, facing away from Chris as he makes his way over to the CD player on the other side of the room. "Well, that's clearly unfortunate, but nothing's changed. I mean, everything's going as planned."
"Did you hear what I said?" Chris hisses, and Tim knows he won't be sleeping easy tonight. Again. "Natalie's dead, she killed herself! It's our fault."
Tim grabs a CD from the stack on the player and turns to Chris, who's frowning at him. "Why do you have to panic all the time?"
Chris' eyebrows raise in bewilderment. "Panic?! We killed Rand!" Chris' voice raises as he continues talking, which sends Tim into a minor panic. "You and me, okay? We killed him." Tim shushes Chris and motions to the walls around them, desperately trying to get him to stop talking, but Chris ignores him. "You said this was going to be simple, that's what you said. Now what about the police?"
If Tim hadn't found Chris so annoyingly cute, he probably would have sent him off the cliff instead of Rand. Tim's convinced that Rand would have been able to play along a lot better, at least.
"What about 'em? We knew they were going to come. It's basic police procedure."
"You made them think I had something to do with Rand's suicide."
The statement makes Tim laugh. Admittedly, he probably laid it on too thick during that initial interrogation, but Tim couldn't ever help himself when the opportunity to embarrass Chris arose. Seeing Chris get all flustered really did something to him.
"You did have something to with Rand's suicide," Tim reminds him, forcing himself back into the moment.
"Don't be an asshole," Chris snaps, and Tim begins to worry that maybe he's taken the teasing a little too far. "Why did you invent that shit about me running after Rand?"
"Did it ever occur to you I was just having a wee bit of fun?" Tim makes dramatic motions with his arms to emphasize the silliness of the bit as he walks over to Chris. He places his hands on his shoulders and gives him a squeeze. "Would you relax? You were fine! Stop being so negative."
Chris' expression doesn't change, but he doesn't snap back, much to Tim's relief. Chris shrugs Tim off and moves towards his bed, a heavy sigh escaping him.
"I can't believe we did this," he laments quietly.
The soft statement makes Tim feel a little guilty. Only a little, because he's heard Chris bemoan the plan the second the detectives let on that Rand's body hadn't been found yet. Something Tim still wasn't all too concerned about, considering he'd watched Rand's body fall into the river that night. A fact he'd told Chris several times by now. Still, Natalie killing herself was proving interesting. From Chris' distress, he could only assume she'd also thrown herself off the cliff, so Rand's body likely was stuck on something in the river.
Rand…
Tim takes the moment to remind Chris how depressed he'd been just a few weeks ago, before the plan had come to fruition, when he'd found out that one class was going to prevent him from getting into Harvard. He watches Chris stare up at his ceiling, a resigned expression on his face, as he admits that he wanted to kill himself. Tim digs into him further, reminding him of how he had been the one to suggest the plan and that Rand had been the easiest choice because of how much of an asshole he'd been to them. Chris doesn't say anything, but Tim knows he's thinking back to the night of the party where Rand had punched him square in the face. Tim had to stop himself from killing Rand right then and there for bruising Chris' face, but it had been a good enough cover to lean down and place his hand under Chris' chin to examine his injuries.
"What about Natalie?" Chris asks suddenly, wringing his hands together.
Tim realizes that he doesn't have much of a good defense for Natalie, an unfortunate but minimal side effect of the whole ordeal. He decides to ask about how Emma is doing, despite internally cringing at the idea. Chris turns over in his bed, facing the wall, and a flicker of hope ignites within him.
"Chris?" he asks cautiously, creeping towards him. "Buddy?"
"We're not…we're not exactly talking."
Tim feels the corners of his mouth turning up. He immediately forces them back down as he stands right beside Chris' bed.
"What do you mean, buddy?"
Chris doesn't answer right away. Tim sits down at the edge of the bed, his heart racing as he waits for Chris to talk. If this is going where he thinks it's going, he might have to thank Emma for finally doing one thing right. Tim hears Chris take a breath before turning back over. He gazes up at Tim, who decides he rather likes this view, and pauses for a moment before answering him.
"She broke up with me."
It takes all of Tim's willpower not to break out into cheers. He instead frowns and puts on his best confused act he can manage.
"What a cunt," he says, letting some anger seep through. "She dumped you? Over what?"
Chris winces but merely shakes his head instead of answering. Tim tuts and leans down to wrap an arm around Chris.
"Oh buddy, it's not all bad. At least you won't have to put up with her nagging anymore."
Chris doesn't reply, but Tim knows that he's genuinely hung up over it. He figures he'll get over her once this is all blown over, but a plan forms in his mind. Clearly, he couldn't leave anything else to chance, so he said the one thing that usually fixed everything for them.
"Wanna go to the bar?"
< — — — — — >
They may have overdone it with the alcohol. Not that Tim would admit it, anyway, but the pulsing headache he has when he wakes midday confirms as much. He groans as he shoves his head under his pillow and wills himself to go back to sleep. He hears a similar groan from across the room, and he peeks out from under his pillow to see Chris sitting up in bed with his head in his hands. The sight is almost enough to make Tim laugh.
Tim watches as Chris fumbles around his drawers for painkillers. He hears the familiar shake of pills and Chris' relieved sigh as he gets up. The throbbing behind Tim's eyes worsens, and he shuts them briefly as he forces the pillow around his head once more. He hears Chris move around in the bathroom as he brushes his teeth and Tim faintly wonders where Chris could be headed today. He's too tired to care, though, as he feels himself slipping back into sleep.
At some point, Tim wakes back up, his headache still persisting, and he groans as he finally sits up and hits his forehead. He glances over at his nightstand and sees two pills placed neatly beside a glass of water. A smile briefly forms on Tim's face before he chugs them down and trudges into the restroom.
He looks like shit, but he doesn't expect anything less from a night out on the town. He splashes his face with cold water and stares at his reflection for a moment before he decides to get on with his day. A brief shower and clean teeth leave him feeling a little lighter, especially since his headache has gone down (but not completely disappeared). He gets dressed and figures he'll swing by the cafe for something to eat before searching for Emma, but his thought is cut short when he hears a knock at his door.
Who the fuck could that be?
Tim opens the door and finds himself face to face with the detectives — Mike and Matt, Tim reminds himself — who look less than pleased to be back here.
"Detectives," Tim says, sporting an easy smile. "What can I do for you?"
"From our last conversation," Detective Shipper starts, holding up a creased picture of Rand and Natalie smiling together. "You and Chris mentioned knowing Natalie Broder, correct? We need to conduct another interview with anyone who knew her."
"Oh, of course!" Tim says, opening the door and motioning for the detectives to walk in. Detective Amato glances around the room as the door shuts behind him.
"Where's your buddy?" he asks, lighting up a cigar.
Tim shrugs. "I don't know, probably class," he says, plopping himself down on the couch and getting comfortable. Detective Shipper takes a seat in the arm chair across from him as his partner walks around the room. Tim finds the setup amusing and wonders if they're always like this.
"You're both guaranteed the 4.0, are you not?" Shipper asks. "Why go to class?"
"Well, you know, as a distraction." Tim motions to Rand's side of the room. "It's not easy coming back and seeing an empty bed where your friend once was."
A puff of smoke wafts into Tim's face and he scrunches his nose and fans it away. As much as he didn't mind the smoke itself, preferring cigars himself, he couldn't imagine it'd do his headache any favors at the moment. Tim watches Amato stride his way over, a clear attempt at making himself appear threatening. Tim knew he wouldn't be able to get a single thing out of him, on account of being an absolute dumbass.
"So what are you still doing here?" he asks. The cigar hangs loosely from his lips as he talks, nearly falling out after every word he says. Tim has to stop himself from laughing at how corny he looks.
"Woke up late, was gonna go find Emma. You know, Natalie's roommate?"
"We're well acquainted," Shipper reminds him. He leans forward in his seat and stares Tim down. "Why?"
"Chris told me Nat committed suicide—" Tim notices Shipper's eyebrow raise at this, "—and I wanted to check up on her. Make sure she was doing okay."
"So your little buddy told ya, huh?" Amato points a finger at Tim as he takes another puff from his cigar. Tim nods.
"How did he know?" Shipper asks, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it up. The pounding in Tim's head is growing again and he silently hopes this conversation doesn't last any longer than it needs to.
"Don't know, I assume Emma told him."
Which has to be the truth, as far as Tim knows, because there's no way Chris had anything to do with her death. Emma though…
"You know, there's this weird thing," Tim starts, shaking his head and leaning forward in his seat. Amato and Shipper lock eyes before gluing their gazes to him. The excitement starts building in his chest as he continues. "Yesterday, Emma came to me to complain about Chris— you know how girls can be. But, uh, she told me that Natalie wanted to be left alone that day, which was odd to me because the day after Rand's memorial, she told us she was leaving back to Canada. And I— honestly, I thought that she was back yesterday, but then Emma said she needed time alone and then later that night Chris comes and tells me she's dead? Committed suicide?" Tim frowns and covers his mouth with his fist as he closes his eyes. "I knew she was distraught over getting pregnant but then losing Rand must have—"
Tim cuts himself off and shakes his head, glancing between the two detectives, who seem to be communicating telepathically. Shipper leans back in his seat and takes a long drag from his cigarette, Amato doing the same, before speaking.
"Who told you Natalie was pregnant?"
It's a simple question, standard question, but Tim can tell from the glint of curiosity in Shipper's eyes that he's got him hooked. He can practically see the gears turning in his head as he picks up what he's putting down. Shipper's demeanor also tells him something else, something that hadn't crossed his mind until the detectives had walked right in.
"Emma did, sir. Told me she'd helped her calm down when she found out, told Chris afterwards, too."
"Did she show you a pregnancy test? Or just tell you about it?"
"Just told me."
Shipper nods and glances at Amato, who steps in.
"So you telling us Emma was the last person who'd seen her?"
Tim folds his hands in his lap, taking a moment to think about his next choice of words. "I don't know who else Natalie would've trust to be with her during all this. I mean, who knows, maybe someone else saw her— Chris and I certainly wouldn't know, we were here, you know? And Emma— Oh, I'm sure Emma's just as devastated as we were when we lost Rand..."
Silence fills the room as Tim musters up the best pained face he can make, which isn't too hard given his persisting headache. He lets out a shaky breath and excuses himself to the bathroom, where he makes a show of leaning over the sink like he's about to heave and blowing his nose before re-entering the space. The detectives have not taken their eyes off of him the entire time.
Tim clears his throat. "Is there anything else you needed from me?" he asks, his voice strained.
"No, we've gotten all we need," Shipper confirms. He stands, giving Tim one last look before motioning to the door with his head. Amato makes his way over and steps out, leaving enough space for Shipper to leave one last comment for Tim. "Hopefully the next time we meet will be on better terms."
Tim offers him a weak smile. "I hope so too, Matt."
The detectives leave and Tim lets out a sigh of relief. He opens up one of the windows in the room to air out the smoke they left and tries to remember what he had set out to do before they'd shown up.
SUMMARY: Stu has seen him all his life, but only in glimpses, and never during a time where it's been convenient for him. He doesn't really know what to make of him, and it wouldn't bother him so much if he didn't have his face. [AO3 link]
CONTENT WARNING(S): N/A
WORD COUNT: 3.3K
Stu has seen him all his life, but only in glimpses, and never during a time where it's been convenient for him. As he's passing by the tv on his way out the door, in the pool water just before he's about to dive in, in the rear view mirror of his dad's car. And every time he looks, he disappears, as if he'd never been there to begin with.
For a long time, Stu wasn't sure if he was. When he was younger, he'd tried to get his parents or sisters to see him, but he was always brushed off as having an overactive imagination (or, in his father's words, "being stupid"). He stopped trying once he got to junior high, but he never stopped catching glimpses. Never stopped noticing when his reflection moved without him or wore different clothes, all while wearing his face.
Stu didn't have a name for him. Other than his own name, of course, but there was something about calling him his name bothered Stu, so he settled for calling him his "future self". "Future" because, even in the brief glimpses, Stu had noticed that this version looked a little older than he did. Assuming, of course, that he was even the same guy and not just Stu being tormented by some knock-off Poltergeist demon. He wasn't a fan of either scenario, really, but he really didn't like the alternative of his problem needing a shrink to fix it, so "future self" it was.
Stu currently stands in front of his bedroom mirror directly behind Randy, who is hogging the whole thing. Stu isn't sure he's ever seen a guy obsess over his looks as much as Randy does, and the sight annoys him.
"It's a party, not a job interview," he says flatly, moving away from the mirror and into the bathroom. He hears Randy scoff.
"Still gotta look good!"
Stu opens his mouth to retort back when he catches his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Or rather, him in the bathroom mirror. His future self is smoothing down his hair and tracing his chin as he clearly checks himself out. He winks and points to the mirror, and Stu isn't sure what to make of it. Can his future self see him? And can he actually interact with him back?
He doesn't get to find out.
Stu blinks and he's gone, just like every other instance. This time, he spots Randy in the reflection behind him, leaning against the doorframe.
"You look so pretty, princess," Randy mocks as he motions to the hall with his thumb. "Now stop powdering your nose and let's go!"
Stu rolls his eyes and flicks Randy's forehead as he walks out, but the thought of finally seeing a longer glimpse doesn't leave his brain for the rest of the night.
< — — — — — >
It happens again a few weeks later, when Stu walks out of a class he finds particularly boring and makes his way to the farthest bathroom. He was set on milking the break for all it was worth, especially since he'd overheard Steven saying he needed to take a piss. Stu figures he can suffer a little before his big break.
He finds refuge in the farthest stall and takes a moment to just breathe. Stu wasn't normally one to worry (that was Billy's job), but today his nerves were gnawing away at him for a reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. He doesn't get a moment to dwell on it, though.
"Tim?"
Stu rolls his eyes as he leans against the stall door.
Great, he thinks. Can't a guy get some peace around here?
"Chris?"
Stu internally groans.
Oh even better, he's brought a buddy with him.
"I nailed it."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well that-that's great! Now we don't have to do it!"
Something about the inflection of the guy's tone sets alarms off for Stu, but he doesn't move from his place in the stall.
"Right."
"Perfect! Yeah, I know, I was having second thoughts, too. I mean, it's— Well it was a pretty radical idea."
"Yeah, I don't know what we were thinking."
The other guy laughs, and that's enough to get Stu standing pin straight. He knows that laugh.
"It scared you enough to get an A, though, didn't it?"
"You should be one of those motivational speakers. One of those guys on the infomercials, you know? How much money do you want to make? With one 900 call, you could—"
Stu barges out of the stall, just in time to see his future self walk out carrying rolls of toilet paper.
Holy shit!
"Asshole," his future self says as he admires himself in the mirror.
Stu waves his arms in front of the mirror, but his future self doesn't seem to react. He'd break the mirror if he could, out of pure frustration of the situation, but realizes that this glimpse is lasting a little longer than usual.
"What?"
"Please."
His future self points a finger in the mirror and winks before walking past. Stu tries to follow him but his own reflection follows him to the other mirror instead. He rushes back to the first mirror and stares ahead, taking in the different bathroom reflected before him as he listens.
"Did you really think I wasn't going to check the grades myself? Like I'm just gonna trust you?"
Stu hears the sound of a backpack being zipped open. There's a brief pause before the other guy he's talking to — Chris, was it? — replies to him.
"I still have time. We can go to my professor—"
"Fuck you. It's settled!" There's a slap then (probably on the guy's ass if Stu had to guess, knowing himself too well) before footsteps recede from the restroom. "Come on Chris!" There's another brief pause followed by kissy noises. "Come on!"
Their footsteps fade, and Stu's left staring into the mirror alone. He blinks, and his reflection stares back at him. Stu clicks his tongue before walking out of the restroom and heading back to class. The teacher does not comment on his absence. He hears Steven curse under his breath as he saunters back to his seat and smirks as Steven sprints out of the room.
He spends the rest of the class period wracking his brain around what he heard. Given that the bathroom was different and he'd distinctly heard Chris say "professor", it was clear that they were in college. The thought makes Stu laugh. Since when had he and Billy given a fuck about college? How'd they even get in?
Money, his brain helpfully provides. We bought our way in, doofus.
The thought consoles him, providing him the wonderful confirmation he'd needed to calm his nerves.
We made it out. Didn't make it out like Hannibal in the Bahamas style, but no one's ever gonna know the truth of it anyway.
The realization makes him smile, and the smile stays on for the rest of the day. When Billy asks him what's got him in such a good mood, Stu just tells him that he knows they've got it good.
Still, not being able to talk with his future self — Tim, he reminds himself, while also lamenting that it's such a stupid name — does irk him. He tells himself that there has to be a way to reach him, and that he will find it before the plans were set in motion. He had to. Just to make sure their planning was almost done.
< — — — — — >
Stu gets his opportunity months later as he's brushing his teeth one morning. He leans down to spit and when he pulls back up, he finds himself face to face with Tim, who's coincidentally also brushing his teeth. Stu doesn't let the moment linger, immediately banging a fist against the mirror. Tim jolts back and glances around, brows furrowed in confusion. Stu hits the mirror again.
"Hey!" he shouts. Tim's head whips back around. "Can you see me?" Stu waves his arms around and laughs as Tim stares back at him, really stares back. "Holy shit, you are real! Hahaha!"
Stu pumps a fist into the air as he laughs. He feels his excitement getting the better of him and reminds himself that he could probably disturb the peace at any moment if he's any louder, so he calms himself and focuses on Tim, whose gaze hasn't left him. He's leaned over his sink now, his face a few inches from the mirror. Stu can see the disbelief clearly painted on his face as his eyes dart around Stu, taking him in.
"What the fuck."
Somehow, Stu is surprised that those are the first words out of Tim's mouth. It's also such a soft declaration — one Stu clearly wasn't meant to hear given how quiet Tim's voice goes — that he begins to worry if he's officially fucked up his only chance to talk with the guy.
Tim suddenly splashes water on his face and stares down at the sink for a moment before slowly looking back up at Stu. He laughs, the sound coming out strained and unsure.
"This is not happening right now."
Stu scoffs. "Who are you, man?"
Tim instantly stands up straight, grinning at Stu and startling him more than he cares to admit. "Doesn't matter who I am, muchacho. Let me ask you," he points a finger at Stu and places it against the glass, "Who you think you are. Because you look like my kind of guy."
Stu's brows furrow as Tim pulls away from the glass.
"And what kind of guy is that?"
"The kind of guy who loves the high risks for the high rewards."
Stu snorts at that. "We got a real Einstein over here."
Tim's expression doesn't change. "Kind of guy who will do anything for the thrill of the game even if it means a few casualties along the way."
Stu pauses. The statement is painfully PG, he recognizes that, but he also recognizes the glint in Tim's eyes as he says it. Like he's testing the waters, throwing a line out just for Stu to see if he'll bite. Stu's played this game enough with Billy to know how to keep it going.
"What can I say? I'm like a corner street crack whore, but instead of begging for crack I'm begging for bodies like The Zodiac."
Stu's sure it's the worst line he's ever come up with, but somehow Tim laughs at that. Hard. His whole body shakes and he sounds so loud, Stu's convinced he's gonna wake up the whole house. Tim eventually settles down and wipes the tears from his eyes.
"The kid's got jokes. Funny ones." Tim looks up at Stu again and gestures between them. "We're gonna make it far, kid—" he points a finger at him, "—but you gotta want it. Like a fish needs water."
Stu watches as the silly grin slips off Tim's face, his expression dark now as he stares ahead at Stu. The sudden change sends a chill down Stu's spine. He's tempted to ask Tim how and when they got so good at doing that — he can practically hear Billy snorting at the idea of Stu being just as intimidating — but Tim starts talking again before he gets the chance to.
"Don't let anyone in," he says quietly. "Not unless you can trust them to put you back in the water if you jump out."
Stu opens his mouth to say something but a faint groan interrupts him. Tim glances to his side, into a room that Stu can't see. Tim mutters a soft, "Shit," before glancing back at Stu.
"No one," he repeats in a whisper. "No one unless you know." A small smile returns to his face. "See you later, buddy."
Tim walks out of view from the mirror and the second he blinks, he's back to staring at his own reflection. Again. With so many questions swirling around in his head that he can feel the migraine coming on trying to keep track of them. He heaves a sigh and runs a hand down his face.
No one unless you know.
Tim's words repeat in his mind the entire time he heads to school, a hammer chipping away at the wall of his brain. He can trust Billy. He knows he can. But the way Tim talked...had Billy betrayed him? Left him bleeding out on the cutting room floor while he'd tried to cling to him with his dying breath?
No, Stu shakes his head. No way he'd do that to me. Not after everything! We'd killed that whore together, he SWORE it'd be us until the end, he—
Stu stops dead in his tracks. He was in the hall now, students passing on either side of him, and just up ahead he could see the rest of the gang crowding around Sidney's locker, their backs facing him. Billy towered over Sidney, who was gently shoving him away. He hears Randy, who takes things a little too seriously, threaten to shove Billy off of her himself if he didn't move. Billy mockingly shoots back at him with a question.
"Oh yeah? You gonna kill me over it, Rand?"
Stu's blood ran cold. His mind was brought to a standstill by a single thought at the forefront of his mind.
Billy doesn't make it.
His heart nearly stops at the notion and he suddenly finds himself having a really hard time breathing. Someone bumps into him — some jock who's too focused on watching the girl in his side instead of the hall in front of him — and Stu nearly collapses onto the floor. The students around him catch him in their shock, several of them asking if he was okay or feeling well, and Stu only manages a weak nod before immediately rushing over to the restroom down the hall.
He rushes into the farthest stall and slumps against the door, gasping for air, and runs his hands over his face. It felt like the world was caving in at the realization, a truth that strikes down on Stu with such startling clarity that he feels stupid for not having realized it sooner. Or rather, for not having believed it sooner. Because really, Billy had considered every possibility when they had first come up with their grand plan of revenge, and had tried to erase every obstacle that could stand in their way to success. One of those possibilities had been only one of them making it out alive to see it through. Stu had always thought it'd be Billy, since Billy had scoffed at the idea of Stu being the sole survivor, but hearing Tim's warning felt like an omen, a final nail in a coffin Stu hadn't even realized would be buried.
FUCK.
The restroom door squeaks open, painfully shrill, and laughter fills up the empty space. He swallows his grief and stands up straight. He wasn't going to let anyone see him on the verge of a panic attack if he could help it.
Don't let anyone in.
Stu pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a slow breath. The laughter dies down and transitions into a short conversation that floats out of the restroom. Stu waits a few minutes before stepping out of the stall. His gaze lands on the mirror directly in front of him and sees his reflection stare back at him. He's not exactly sure what he would've done if it had been Tim instead, but he doesn't dwell on the thought.
"Stu?"
Stu jolts and looks over at the door to see Billy standing a few steps in front of it. Billy's eyes slowly sweep over his frame, his gaze gluing Stu in place like he was trying to decide when to pounce on him. Stu would've enjoyed that under different circumstances.
"Talk to me, Stu."
Stu doesn't even know where to start. He'd never had to restrain himself from telling Billy something he so desperately wanted to tell him, but he knows how insane he'll sound. He settles for a half-truth, but even that is proving hard to get out.
Billy narrows his eyes as he approaches Stu. Stu holds his hand out to stop Billy, who obeys and stops a step short from him. Stu lets out a breath and forces his mouth to work.
"I'm uh...I'm going off the deep end here, man."
Billy quirks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Stu takes that as his cue to continue.
"Do you trust me?" he asks quietly. "To get us to our big finale? Our big break?"
Stu knows Billy would assume he was just feeling insecure and probably throw some reassurance disguised as an insult at him. Something he needed at this moment, unbeknownst to Billy. Predictably, Billy's expression softens and he gently grabs Stu's face and pulls him closer. Stu could feel his heart beating, the sudden closeness reminding him just where they were and how risky this all was.
"Yeah, if you stop acting so stupid," he murmurs. "What the fuck's gotten into you? Our 'long talks' not enough for you?"
Stu lets out a shaky laugh, which causes Billy's brows to furrow with concern. Worry was a rare sight on Billy, a sight that Stu would do anything to prevent him from wearing again. He currently wasn't doing him any favors, though, and as Stu realizes that, he straightens out once more and offers him a grin. He was sure Billy would see right through it, but he has to make an effort somehow.
"Oh they're enough alright." Stu pats the side of Billy's head and steps past him, deliberately ignoring Billy's knowing stare. Stu opens his mouth to say something else but is interrupted by the restroom door swinging open. Randy's head pokes in and he immediately glances between the two before rolling his eyes.
"Your idiot boyfriend's fine," he announces over his shoulder, making no attempt to disguise his annoyance.
Stu took this as his cue to grab the door and open it further, nearly causing Randy to fall right into him. Sidney and Tatum stood nearby, glancing nervously in. Stu offers a warm smile to Tatum, who looks relieved.
"There you are," she says, her voice laced with concern. Stu was sure he would've found that endearing in another reality. "You got everyone worried—"
"Aw, did I scare ya?" Stu steps out and scoops Tatum up into his arms. Tatum let out a yelp before erupting into giggles and playful demands to be let down. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Billy slide up next to Sidney, who looks mildly amused. "Wasn't feeling too hot, had to make sure I wasn't transforming into a Brundlefly." He notices Randy scrunch his nose in disgust, but makes no further comment.
"You sure you're feeling alright?" Sidney asks.
Stu laughs and sets Tatum down. "Oh yeah, lots."
Tatum flicks his forehead and crosses her arms. "You can't be worrying us like that—"
"Yeah, Stu," Billy says, his tone flat. "Don't want to be setting off any false alarms, do you?"
Stu raises his hands up in defense. "Okay, okay, okay, it won't happen again!"
Hopefully.
Billy looks Stu over again but doesn't say anything. Randy says something about not wanting to have to put up with the girls' whining, but Stu can't hear him over the sound of the bell ringing. He's never been more thankful for it in his life.
The realization doesn't leave Stu alone for the rest of the day — and he's sure it'll persist for the rest of the week at this rate — but a strong resolve builds up as the day goes by. He convinces himself that their fates aren't sealed, that he would find a way to make sure Billy saw everything through to its end. Even if it killed him.
SUMMARY: Randy can’t help but wonder where they fell apart. [Part 1] [AO3 link]
MAIN PAIRING: Randy x Stu
CONTENT WARNING(S): Internalized Homophobia, Tatum's death
Randy’s staring at himself in the mirror as he fiddles with the collar of his jacket. His outfit’s casual, nothing crazy for Stu’s party, but the rings and watch add a nice touch to an otherwise boring outfit. It’s recently become his signature style, a subtle way to elevate everything in his closet without actually buying new clothes. He’s pretty proud of himself for that one. Not that anyone seemed to notice, though.
His bedroom door swings open. He whips around to see Martha standing in the doorway, seemingly auditioning as the long lost third addition to the Grady twins from The Shining given her stance and gaze. Randy doesn’t voice this, though, as he knows she won’t get the reference.
“What’s the matter with you?!” he asks instead. The question doesn’t come off as angry as he intends it to be, Randy realizes, as Martha squints her eyes at him.
“Where are you going?” she asks, completely ignoring his question. Randy rolls his eyes and turns back to the mirror. He combs his hands through his hair and gives himself one last lookover before Martha speaks again. “Hey! I said—”
“Out,” he snaps.
“But what about curfew?”
Randy turns back to face Martha. Her arms are crossed and although she’s no longer squinting, her eyes have a glint of mischief in them that tells Randy all he needs. He points his finger at her.
“If mom or dad asks, you didn’t see me.”
“Why not? What’s in it for me?”
“I won’t tell them who actually broke the kitchen window.”
After years of hearing their parents claim his angelic baby sister could do no wrong, he has evidence to disprove it for once. Martha’s eyes widen and Randy’s grin betrays his excitement at finally having leverage over her. It’s short-lived excitement, though, as Martha’s expression softens and turns startlingly serious.
“You’re not afraid you’ll get killed?” she asks quietly.
Randy’s heart catches in his throat. It’s a question he’s avoided thinking about since Casey and Steve died. The possibility’s always looming over him, despite memorizing the rules of horror. He is a virgin, after all, so he’s guaranteed survival by these rules. But there’s a part in the back of his mind that wonders if the killer would still be playing by the books tonight.
Randy notices Martha fidgeting with the sweater she’s wearing, and he swallows hard as he passes her and walks down the hall into the living room. He stops in front of the window beside the front door and pulls back the curtain to look out onto the street.
It’s a still and quiet night. Just like every other night. The cars lining the street look the same to Randy as they always do, and seeing the lights still on in some of the houses provides him with some comfort. He starts making mental notes of everything, though. Just in case. Everybody’s a suspect, after all.
Randy’s drawn out of his thoughts when he hears glass shatter and Martha yelp. He jolts and looks back to see her kneeling over a broken picture frame. He lets out a sigh of relief and walks over, shooing her away so he can pick up the pieces of scattered glass.
“Martha, watch what you’re—”
He stops as he turns the frame over.
Of all the pictures Martha could knock from the mantle, it just has to be the one with him and Stu as kids, doesn’t it? Specifically the one with them hugging each other with the biggest smiles on their faces at Randy’s 10th birthday party. Because of course it is. And to add insult to injury, the glass is broken over Stu’s face, of all places. Because of course it is.
An omen, clear as day. Randy can see that, he isn’t blind. If this were a horror movie, he’d be ridiculing the character for deciding to step foot outside after seeing such an obvious sign. In that moment, though, something tells him he should go to Stu’s party. For better or for worse. If Stu isn’t the killer, then Randy would at least be able to clear him. And if he believes that the rules are foolproof, he’ll live to see it through.
Randy takes the picture out of the frame and places it back on the mantle. He walks into the kitchen to throw the glass away and grabs a broom before he walks back to Martha.
“Clean this up before I get back,” he tells her as he hands her the broom. “Lock all the windows and doors. I have the key so if you hear knocking or a window break, call the cops. And if I don’t—” He stops himself. He can see how tightly Martha’s gripping the broom, and he once again recognizes that he’d be shouting at the screen because of how stupid the decision he’s making is. But the nagging in the back of his mind persists, so he holds the picture back up and points to Stu. “Prime Suspect number two. Billy-fucking-Loomis is Prime Suspect number one. Got it?”
Martha slowly nods in understanding, which is enough for Randy. He sets the picture down and walks to the front door. He opens it and turns back to look at Martha one last time. He realizes he’s studying her, as if trying to memorize every detail in case he’d need to tell authorities. The possibility that she could be the one to die tonight, and not him, horrifies him far more than he’d admit out loud. By horror movie rules, she can’t be on the target list — assuming there is a list, anyway — but he doesn’t want to take any chances tonight.
“You got any friends that would want to do an impromptu sleepover?”
< — — — — — >
The night is colder than Randy anticipates, but he’s thankful he doesn’t have to walk all the way to Stu’s house from Martha’s friend’s place. He isn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed at the lack of concern her friend’s father has as he drives him to the party, but he nonetheless thanks him as he gets out of the car. He makes his way down the familiar walkway and contemplates getting the spare key Stu’s folks have hidden on the porch but decides against it and rings the doorbell instead. The chime echoes in the house, but there’s no immediate answer.
Something feels off.
But everything has felt off lately.
Randy isn’t sure he can even trust his instinct anymore. His instinct that tells him that he knows these games and rules like the back of his hand — because he does — and tells him that he knows who killed Steve and Casey. His instinct that tells him that Stu is connected, somehow.
Stu.
His heart aches at the thought, admittedly. He can’t help it. How would you feel if your childhood best friend turned out to be a serial killer? No, murderer, Randy corrects himself, a murderer since he only killed two people.
...Allegedly.
Because there’s no proof, is there? Nothing to link anyone to the crime scene aside from circumstances and motives, but there’s nothing in that department either, according to the police. What a joke. He knows in his heart that Billy Loomis is behind the murders. He has to be, he’s the shadiest, most suspicious suspect to ever suspect, right there, right in front of them.
And then there’s Stu.
Defending Billy with every breath he takes, teasing and shoving Randy around like he hasn’t seen the same movies Randy has. The why of it all bothers Randy, because he can’t seem to figure Stu out. Either Stu’s too naive to see what’s going on or he’s in on it and committing the murders alongside him. But Randy knows Stu, knows he wouldn’t hurt anyone aside from roughhousing no matter how far someone might push him, knows he wouldn’t murder someone in cold blood. Stu just didn’t have that in him, he cared too much about other people’s feelings. So if Stu isn’t in on it, then Randy’s out here making a fool out of himself accusing him, his childhood best friend, the guy who’d stuck by him through thick and thin. And if Stu isn’t a murderer, what was to say he wouldn’t be the next victim?
Why is Stu taking so long to answer the door?
Randy rings the doorbell again, panic rising as it echoes throughout the house. He glances around the porch, trying to remember where Stu’s parents hide the spare key. How long has it been since the last time he was over at Stu’s place? Can’t have been that long...
Thankfully, Randy doesn’t need to search for the keys. The front door swings open, revealing Stu in a red robe that Randy can’t remember ever seeing him in. He figures it belongs to his dad, since he’s out of town and thus can’t get on Stu’s case about wearing. There’s a brief moment of silence between them and Randy catches a glimpse of relief in Stu’s expression before it’s replaced with that goofy smile of his that Randy adores.
“You’re early,” he says before stepping away from the door and motioning for Randy to come inside. Randy does so, the warmth of the house enveloping him as he feels his heart relax. Had it been pounding before Stu opened the door?
Stu wraps an arm around Randy’s shoulders as he leads him into the kitchen. There’s some stacks of solo cups next to an unopened case of beer sitting on the kitchen island. He really is early.
“How many people did you invite over?” Randy asks, the relief now fully subsided. Stu shrugs as he grabs two beer bottles and hands one to Randy.
“It’s a siesta, man, you know how word gets around.” Stu opens his bottle and takes a swig before turning back to Randy. “Tons of people could show up.”
Something about the way Stu says that doesn’t put Randy at ease. On the one hand, there’s safety in numbers. More people means less of a chance of being caught alone with the killer. On the other hand, Randy knows that there will be enough booze here to get everyone so drunk that being in a group will only serve to slow them down if they need to escape.
Assuming the killer would show up here, anyway. Which they very likely could.
“Earth to Ray?”
Randy blinks and realizes Stu’s waving his hand in front of his face.
“What? Sorry, you weren’t saying anything interesting,” he jokes. Stu’s face scrunches up in confusion and Randy is already bracing for the annoying teasing he’ll have to put up with for years once Stu gets back to what he was saying.
“I just asked why you didn’t use the spare,” he says, and Randy can feel his heart speeding up again.
“Couldn’t find it.” Randy opens up his bottle and takes a long swig, hyper aware of how suspicious the reply makes him look.
Fuck.
Stu’s eyes dart towards the ceiling, the way they do when he thinks really hard about something, and when they land back on Randy, it feels like they’re boring straight through him.
“Must’ve misplaced it.” Stu’s tone is flat but his expression relaxes as he takes another swig of beer. Randy does the same, his eyes never leaving Stu.
This feels familiar to Randy, sharing beer that Stu somehow always manages to have on hand. Randy asked him one time where he got the beer from, but only got a smug “Just enjoy it, man” out of him. He tries to this time, just like all the other times he’s drank with Stu, but it’s hard to focus when he’s imagining Stu’s lips wrap around something other than the mouth of the bottle he’s drinking out of.
“Got something to say, doofus?” Stu asks, taking him out of his thoughts once again before they can wander any further.
“I think you do.”
It’s so fast that he doesn’t really register what he says until he sees Stu’s eyebrows quirk up. Stu tenses then, his hands gripping the bottle, and his eyes flicker over Randy before he smiles and leans back against the kitchen sink. Randy’s heart flutters a little seeing the smile and he wonders just how much longer he’s going to have to deal with these emotions before they kill him.
“What you got against me?”
“What do you mean?”
Stu laughs, covering his mouth with his hand and pointing at Randy as if they were back in grade school picking on each other. Randy rolls his eyes and waits for Stu to finish laughing.
“Remember in junior high when we rented out Child’s Play and watched it here?”
Randy frowns, spurring more laughter from Stu. Stu swears that Randy had been so scared, he had cried for his momma. Randy doesn’t remember it that way, but no amount of explaining that he had merely been wiping sweat off of his face had deterred Stu from believing otherwise. No horror movie has ever scared Randy, let the records show, he’ll swear by it until his last breath.
“What’s that got to do with anything, dork?”
His tone, once again, fails to come off as stern as he intends it to be. Stu grins and walks over to Randy, pulling him close by his shoulders. Randy stares at him, willing every fiber in his being to relax despite being this close to Stu again. He faintly remembers why he stopped coming over to his place.
“Remember when I told you I’d never tell anybody?” Randy feels his stomach drop and he immediately glares at Stu. Stu laughs again and gently pinches Randy’s cheek. “Relax! Didn’t tell anybody, like I promised! Just wondered if you still remembered, is all.”
Randy goes to shove Stu off of him, in part to ensure he doesn’t accidentally reveal something he shouldn’t, but Stu moves quicker than he does. Stu wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on his shoulder. They’re hugging, Randy realizes. He hesitantly wraps his arms around Stu, unsure if Stu is pulling something on him. The hug is nice, though, and Randy resists the urge to question Stu as he finds himself relaxing in his arms. He figures he can have this moment of solitude with him, considering they were the only ones in the house.
Randy isn’t sure how long they stay locked in their embrace, nor can he pinpoint the emotion that washes over him as Stu’s breath tickles his ear. He is sure of one thing, though. He’s missed bantering with Stu, just the two of them, seeing Stu’s smile as he talks about the things that stuck out to him in the movie they’d just watched, hearing Stu’s laugh as he makes a stupid joke or witty remark. God, he’s missed Stu.
Stu whispers something in his ear, something so faintly that he nearly misses it.
“What?” Randy whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder, Stu will disappear from his arms and he’ll wake back up at home in his bed like so many nights before.
Stu pulls away just enough to leave his face mere centimeters away from Randy’s face. His eyes flicker up and down, and his expression is pained, as if whatever he’s thinking will kill him if he doesn’t get the thoughts out.
“We’re friends ‘til the end, right?”
Randy blinks, partly because Stu is so close it’s dizzying — and if he even leans in slightly, their lips will touch — and partly because he doesn’t quite get why Stu’s asking him the question.
He doesn’t get the chance to answer him, though.
The doorbell chimes and Stu instantly lets go of Randy to answer its call. Randy’s left standing alone in the kitchen, the ghost of Stu’s lips sure to haunt him in his dreams later tonight. He hears the chatter and laughter from the guests that have arrived and the absence of Stu’s warmth hits him harder than it has any right to. He takes a long swig of his beer, shoving his feelings back down where they belong, and walks out into the living room to join the others.
And the night went on that way. Randy watches as Stu mingles with their peers, cheering them on to drink more and laughing with them, and feels an uncomfortable loneliness settle in his chest. The more people arrive, the deeper the feelings hide. He tries to rationalize what had happened in the kitchen with just the two of them — they’d both been sober, that’s for sure — but he keeps coming up empty. Because he knows that what he was feeling — and had been feeling for years at this point — was wrong. And he can’t tell anyone about it, not really. Not unless he wanted to be ridiculed and ostracized for the rest of his life, following him wherever he goes.
But it’s not like he’s not normal. He was into chicks too, he watched porn and he’d even kissed a girl once. But it never felt like enough to prove that nothing was wrong with him, because no one had ever enraptured him like Stu had.
Well, except for one person.
And as Randy dances with a girl he barely knows in Stu’s living room, he sees Sidney walk in, carrying groceries and giggling with Tatum as they head into the kitchen. She looks great tonight, unsurprisingly, and he barely registers that his mouth is open until some other girl points it out while laughing at him. He attempts to walk over her, but gets swept up by some other teens asking to drink with them. He attempts to decline but is enticed when he sees the beer pong table they have set up.
I’ve got all night, he reasons and decides to join them in a round or two.
Randy quickly realizes that he’s shit at it, but the others playing are already hammered so they’re even worse. He manages to convince them that he makes all of the shots he misses and leaves the game feeling pretty proud for having downed only one cup of beer.
He sees Sidney sitting on the couch and plops down beside her with the biggest grin on his face. He hears Tatum and Stu snicker as he talks with Sidney, clearly finding his lame attempts at flirting entertaining. Sidney doesn’t seem to catch on, per usual. The longer he talks with her, though, the more he knows that this feels right. Was it selfish of him to want Sidney to be his girl so badly? Yeah, probably. But was he going to pass up what was possibly the only opportunity to ask her out and make his wildest dreams a reality? Hell no, he’d have to be stupid to do that.
The universe had other plans for him, though.
< — — — — — >
“Turn around!”
Randy’s laying alone on the couch, clutching one of the pillows as he’s shouting at the tv. He’s four or so beers deep at this point in the night but that was irrelevant. Because really, how stupid could Jamie Lee Curtis’ character be? Michael was right behind her and she’d easily avoid him if she just turned around—
“Behind you!”
When she doesn’t turn, Randy throws the pillow aside and gets up, thoroughly frustrated by a movie he’s seen over a hundred times. He glances around, stumbling a bit as he walks into the kitchen, and wonders where the hell everyone went. He leans over the kitchen sink and shakes his head, struggling to remember how he’d gotten to this moment. He vaguely remembers something about Principal Himbry that led to everyone running out and leaving him behind. Stu hadn’t been with them, though. Where was he?
His forehead’s starting to throb and Randy knows it’s only a matter of time before his head starts pounding. He stumbles to the fridge and yanks it open, only to find it ransacked of any food and beverages that he knows Stu’s parents keep stocked. He shuts it, grumbling to himself, and places his head against the fridge door. It’s pleasantly cold and helps to alleviate some of the throbbing, at least momentarily. It’s enough for his brain to have a moment of clarity, and he remembers the extra fridge in Stu’s garage.
God please have water or something.
Randy slowly lifts his head from the fridge and makes his way to the side door leading into the garage. He’s thankful that it’s conveniently located in the sideroom next to the kitchen. He grips the handle and tries to open the door, only to find it won’t budge.
What the hell? Is it stuck?
Randy jiggles the doorknob a bit before putting his weight on the door. It swings open faster than he anticipates, and he falls right through, tripping down the steps leading into the garage and landing hard on his side. Randy groans out in pain and instinctively curls up in the fetal position as he tries to get his body to stop spasming. His head is pounding now and he’s sure that he’s sprained — if not, broken — something.
After what feels like an eternity lying on the cold floor, Randy slowly lifts himself up. He hisses as he stands and leans heavily against the small railing that is really starting to feel like an afterthought to these steps.
“Fuck you, you sorry excuse of—”
Randy hisses again, a surge of pain interrupting his tirade. He clutches his side and nearly buckles over trying to steady himself. He’s not sober enough to deal with this, but he desperately feels the need to lie back down. He doesn’t want to lie on the garage floor again — he can practically hear Stu mocking him for finding him there — and attempts to walk back up the steps. He moves one foot and immediately slips, his body lurching forward and nearly hitting the steps again. His side catches his fall against the railing, though, sending another shot of pain rippling through his body.
“FUCK!”
He grips onto the railing, his breathing heavy and teeth grit so hard that they might just crack from the pressure. His head is spinning, and a part of him figures it might just be easier to let himself fall, mocking be damned. He stares down at the floor, trying to focus on anything that will make the room stop spinning, and notices that it’s wet. Wait, that’s not right—
It’s in that moment that Randy looks around him, only to be met with darkness, aside from the small area on the ground being illuminated by the light streaming in from the kitchen. And the garage door being open, letting in some of the light from the streets. Randy can see something hanging from the doggy door, though, but he can’t quite make out what it is.
Randy slowly, painfully, reaches his arm up to the garage light. He clicks it, but nothing happens. Shit, was the light broken? Since when? Not that Randy can get the answers to those questions given his current predicament, but he still can’t help wonder them nonetheless. He looks back at the ground, struggling to make out the source of the wetness by his feet. He leans down slightly, despite his body screaming at him, and after a few seconds of staring realizes that he can make out a shard of glass.
The smell hits him then, emanating from his wet shirt and pants. He reeks of beer, but more than what he expects from his breath. He takes in a deep breath as he shifts his weight back onto the railing. Someone had broken a beer bottle or two in the garage. No big deal. Assuming he hadn’t broken them just now when he fell in. Randy figures he can come up with a convincing lie to get Stu off his case if it comes down to it.
Randy turns his attention back to the garage door, or more specifically, the doggy door. His eyesight blurs a little then, much to his annoyance. He squeezes his eyes shut, in part because the pain surging through his side is a little stronger now, and stands there for a minute just listening to his breathing. A voice in the back of his head tells him that this would be the most boring scene in a horror movie if he was watching it. It’s a thought that almost makes him laugh.
Randy opens his eyes and focuses on the doggy door. His stomach drops as his brain discerns a pair of white boots, connected to some rather pale looking legs wearing a skirt. The torso they’re still attached to — thankfully — has blood running down its sides. Randy doesn’t think he’s ever sobered up faster.
“TATUM!”
His body is moving faster than he can register, his feet sliding along the floor and kicking shards of broken beer bottles away as he staggers over to her lifeless body. He stops just beneath her and nearly hurls as he sees her face. It’s bad, bad enough that he has to look away from her, because her injury is nothing like the movies. He’s trembling now, shaking really, as he looks around. He has to find Sidney. And Stu. Randy is not a religious man but he hopes to god that they were still alive, safe and sound somewhere. There’s a pit in his stomach, though, that’s telling him otherwise.
Fuck, where was everyone?
“Sidney?!” he shouts into the street. “Stu?! Anybody?!”
He hobbles out of the garage and makes it to the sidewalk before he stops and cusses under his breath. What is he doing? Has he not watched a thousand movies and chastised a thousand characters that had done this exact same stupid move that had resulted in their deaths? He’s out in the open now, vulnerable prey to the predatory killer. He frantically looks around, trying to spot the officer he’d seen earlier — where the fuck was he at?! — or any other living person but is met with nothing.
“FUCK!”
He smacks his head as he speaks, but he can’t help it. His heart’s beating out of his chest, adrenaline’s coursing through his veins, and a million thoughts are running through his head. He’s panicking now but he has no one to help or comfort him. He thinks back to Martha, her worried expression seared in his mind, and he feels just about ready to cry.
But then he hears something.
A twig snapping.
His head snaps in the direction of the sound and he sees someone crawl out from the bushes. Randy nearly cries from joy.
“STU!”
Randy practically barrels into him, clinging onto him as his life depends on it, and the words start to spill out of his mouth faster than he can make sense of them.
Stu shushes Randy and pulls away from him just enough to make eye contact. Stu’s eyes are wide and he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon.
“Randy? What are you—”
“STU LOOK AT FUCKING—” Randy frantically points at Tatum’s body and shakes Stu’s shoulders. “YOU’RE GIRLFRIEND’S DEAD, WHERE THE FUCK IS SIDNEY—”
“Wasn’t she with you?”
“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I ASK YOU WHERE SHE IS IF I WAS—”
And in that moment Randy cuts himself off. Because why was Stu asking him that? He backs away from Stu and looks him over. Stu’s clean, aside from the sweat and beer coming off of him, and he’s staring at Randy like he’s crazy, as if there isn’t a dead body a few feet away from them. But there’s something more in his eyes, some other emotion he can’t quite pinpoint.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, his voice trembling.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Stu says, his tone too calm for the expression his face is wearing. Randy catches on quick.
“I didn’t fucking kill her. Why would I kill your girlfriend?”
“You said it yourself, Ray. It’s the millennium. Motives are incidental.”
Fuck, Stu cannot be serious right now. Using his own words against him? What the fuck is going on?
“I found Billy,” Stu continues, his voice raw. “Found him dead on the floor of my parent’s room.”
Well, there goes Prime Suspect #1 out the window.
“...What?”
Stu’s frowning now, eyeing Randy up and down suspiciously. Randy’s panic returns, stronger now, because fuck his best friend thinks he’s the killer.
“It was a bloodbath.” Stu takes a step towards Randy. “I wonder who—”
“No, no, no, no, no, don’t do this to me!” Randy steps back, a jolt of pain shooting through his leg. He clutches his leg before continuing, “I don’t have it in me to murder someone like that and you know it—”
“Do I?”
“STU, WE’VE BEEN FRIENDS SINCE WE WERE EIGHT! C’MON MAN, PLEASE—”
“Oh yeah? What happened to ‘everybody’s a suspect’?”
“I’M SORRY I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE KILLER, OKAY?! BUT YOU KNOW I HAD A RIGHT—”
“You had a right before you left me behind, Ray.”
Randy stares up at Stu in confusion. Stu’s face is really close to his now, and suddenly he’s back in the kitchen, hugging Stu and breathing him in without a care in the world.
What a shitty turn of events that’s led them here.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You stopped coming over! Stopped hanging out with me and watching movies—”
Randy can’t believe what he’s hearing right now. He’d make a joke of it if weren’t for the situation they were in.
“You left me!” Randy shouts, standing up straight despite his body hating him for doing so. The adrenaline wasn’t out of his system just yet, but he can feel it slowly being replaced with anger. “You stopped inviting me over to your place because— because— FUCK! Because you decided to be Billy’s little fucking lapdog! You met him and threw me aside like I didn’t fucking exist—”
“Because you threw me aside for fucking Sidney!”
“WHAT?! I MET HER AFTER YOU—”
“STOP LYING TO ME RAY.”
“WHAT THE FUCK AM I LYING ABOUT?! YOU LEFT FIRST! YOU LEFT WHEN BILLY WALKED RIGHT INTO YOUR LIFE TO CLAIM YOU AS HIS “BEST FRIEND” — WHICH WAS MY TITLE, BY THE WAY, THAT I’VE HELD SINCE THE THIRD GRADE, THANK YOU — AND YOU LEFT WHEN I TOLD YOU I THOUGHT SIDNEY WAS HOT — RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING MOVIE WE WERE WATCHING, BY THE WAY — AND YOU LEFT ME TONIGHT WHEN YOU WENT TO GET ME A BEER—”
Randy stops himself. Ridiculousness of the situation aside, Randy’s brain cells finally kicked in while he was shouting. Stu had gone to get him a beer. Stu had left during the movie, before the others had gone as well, to get beer. Beer that he took forever to bring back to him. Randy’s blood runs cold and he sees the hint of fear in Stu’s eyes staring back at him.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Randy’s running before Stu can get another word out. And Stu’s right behind him, gaining ground.
He has to find Sidney now.
He has to make it through tonight.
SUMMARY: Stu can’t stop thinking about Randy’s spiel back at the video store. [Part 2] [AO3 link]
PAIRINGS: Stu x Randy, Stu x Billy
“He’s probably dead! His body will come popping up in the last reel somewhere! Eyes gouged out, fingers cut off, teeth knocked out!”
The words are still ringing in Stu’s ears as he and Billy walk back to his place. He can hear Billy talking about something — something about how easy Principal Himbry had gone down — and knows he should be listening, but the idea of torturing Neil Prescott in such a way is enough to distract him from Billy’s words. It’s such a simple, tantalizing image, Stu realizes. So tantalizing that if it weren’t for him planning the “perfect ending”, he would’ve done it himself a while ago.
Or, rather, he and Billy would’ve taken turns inflicting the pain.
“Y’know, his idea ain’t half bad,” he finds himself saying out loud as he sees his house come into view.
“What?” he hears Billy ask, in a tone that’s got some bite to it that Stu doesn’t quite catch.
“Randy, he’s got something going there,” he elaborates, opening the the white wooden gate leading up to his house. His hands dig into his pockets, searching for his keys, as he continues. “With the whole ‘eyes gouged out, fingers cut off, teeth knocked out’ thing—”
Stu doesn’t have any time to react as he feels Billy drag him down the walkway by his neck and slam him into the front door. Billy pins him there, his eyes narrowed and teeth grit, and Stu can’t help but squirm under his touch.
“What the hell are you doin—”
“Did you forget the plan, dipshit?” Billy hisses, tightening his grip on Stu’s neck. “Did you forget your idea—”
“We’re still doing that!” Stu snaps back. He grabs Billy’s arm, a warning that he’ll shove him off if he’s not careful. “But why not cast some doubt on poor little Ray, huh? Another red herring! Won’t even be on poor ol’ dad, for continuity. Just another random body before the party. C’mon Billy, there were witnesses! It’d be easy—”
“It’d be easy to fuck up and we don’t have time.” Billy leans in close to Stu’s face, shoving Stu’s hand off. His breath is hot and his eyes are filled with a rage that normally turns Stu on, but now only succeeds in annoying him. “The bitch dies tonight. All of them do. That’s the rules.” Billy backs off of Stu, but not before shoving him into the door again. Stu wraps his hand around his throbbing neck as he watches Billy walk away from him. “Don’t you forget it, Stu. We are not deviating from the plan.”
“Billy! Where are you going, man?”
Billy doesn’t reply. The conversation’s over, just like that, as Billy walks down the street, his fists clenched at his sides. Stu wants to follow after him, to demand to know where he’s going, to ask him what that had been about, but he can’t get his body to move. He stands there for a moment, staring at the empty space Billy left behind, before his body finally cooperates and staggers towards the fence. Billy’s already gone, though, taking the mystery and slew of questions with him. Stu walks back to the front door, shakily taking his key out and unlocking the door. He internally curses as he feels tears pricking his eyes and he kicks at the door before he steps inside. He hates that his anger takes on the pathetic form of crying and shaking rather than the cold, threatening presence Billy’s anger has.
The house is quiet. A good sign, Stu thinks, as he beelines to the hallway closet. His hand is still shaking as he grips the doorknob, and he takes a moment to steady his breathing and relax. He slowly opens the door and peeks in. Neil is still right where they left him, bound and gagged on the closet floor. His eyes are shut, which lets Stu know that he won’t have to worry about him making noise during the party.
Not that anyone would hear him, anyway.
Stu shuts the door and leans his head against it. He still feels off, and he knows it’s a feeling he’s going to have to get rid of sooner rather than later if he wants Billy to trust him.
Trust him.
The thought draws out a bitter laugh from him.
Because honestly, what the fuck was Stu supposed to do to convince Billy that he was competent enough for this plan? He’d already gutted Steve and killed Sidney’s whore mother a year before with Billy, he’s devoted most of his time and attention to Billy, what else was left? Sure, he’s nearly “blown their cover” a few times, but he did it at times where he knew no one was gonna catch on! No matter how many times Billy had argued with him afterward, absolutely no one had caught on to them...
...Except for Randy.
Stu had to hand it to Randy, he was a perceptive and clever little shit without even realizing it. He always had been, ever since they’d met in the third grade, even before the movie geek persona had consumed him. Hell, it’s why they’d managed to stay friends all these years. Randy was just able to read people, even jokingly. It’s part of the reason why Stu suggested Randy be included in their plans, to have someone who he knows he could trust to read the room.
Billy had been vehemently against the idea.
Stu wasn’t sure Billy had ever been so annoyed at the mention of Randy’s name prior to that. Billy had gone on a rant about how unreliable Randy was, how the “movie virgin freak” didn’t have it in him to actually follow through and would instantly narc on them if he was included. Stu had interrupted the rant to defend Randy, reminding Billy that he was insulting his childhood best friend here and how he could stop the rant because he understood his point. That had only fueled Billy’s anger further.
“They won’t be friends when we’re killing them,” he had snarled, scowling as he focused his gaze on Stu. “They’ll just be bodies to get us closer to our goal. Get that through your fucking head, Stu.”
You’re such a little lapdog.
Randy’s words echoed in his mind. The words had irked Stu as Randy had said them, and it had been obvious in his tone when he’d practically interrogated Randy on why he thought Billy was guilty, but Randy hadn’t been perceptive enough to catch on.
Or, maybe he had and he just wasn’t letting on.
Stu could definitely see why they needed Randy dead by the end of the night. It wouldn’t matter if Randy was right if he wasn’t around to tell authorities the truth. Still, it’s a thought that bothers Stu more than he’d care to admit.
And that was just it, wasn’t it? He’d meant it when he told Billy to stop insulting his friend. He’d known perfectly well that Randy would wimp out and sell them out the second he’d realize they were actual murderers. And he knows exactly why Billy goes ballistic every time Randy’s name is brought up.
Because Billy could see right through him.
Stu just couldn’t bring himself to throw away all their years of friendship by killing him. Even after Randy suspected him from the beginning, even after Randy had called him a lapdog, Stu had suggested ways to keep him alive in spite of it all.
Because, as much as Stu has tried to push it out and hide it away, a part of him still loves Randy.
A part of him still loves to hear his stupid geeky facts about all of their favorite horror movies, still loves seeing Randy roll his eyes at his terrible jokes, still loves clinging to Randy, feeling his body pressed against his and playing around with whatever body part is closest to his hands, just to get Randy flustered until his face turns bright red and his breathing hitches. That part of him knows he won’t be able to handle hearing his heart beat stop or see the life drain from his eyes as he dies.
It’s why Billy has to be the one to kill Randy. He volunteered to do so, in fact. Stu had asked Billy to make it as painless as possible — the only genuine request he’d made in their whole ordeal — and although Billy had promised him he would, he wasn’t sure he’d follow through with it.
Hell, what if he was going to kill Randy right now?
The thought is enough to get Stu moving to the front door again, but he stops himself right at the bottom of his staircase. He knows it’ll throw a wrench in their plans. He knows that if he’s right, and he manages to interrupt Billy as he’s killing Randy, Billy would just go after him once he finished Randy off. He can’t afford that. Not when they’re so close to executing their plans.
Not when Stu wants to earn Billy’s trust more than he wants to keep his friend alive.
And so he forces himself up the stairs and to his shower. He has a party to get ready for, after all. Whether or not Randy shows up won’t matter, despite a small part of him hoping he does.
Randy had been right. Stu was Billy’s little lapdog.
< — — — — — >
Stu’s heart sits heavy in his chest, like most days as of late. But tonight it feels like it’s weighing him down so much more than he anticipates it to as the clock ticks closer to their perfect ending. He can’t say he’s confused or even surprised, but he is annoyed.
How does Billy do it? Stu wonders if having mommy issues helps him isolate and bury his feelings deep down where he needs them to be. Not that he’ll ever ask that out loud, unless he wants Billy to tie him down and punish him like he’s done in the past when Stu asks too many questions he shouldn’t. Stu can’t really help it, he just loves pushing people’s buttons and getting under their skin. It’s harder to do that with Billy, especially since he’s better at doing so, but it was always easy with Randy.
Randy.
There he goes again, taking up all the free space in his brain. That was the fifth time now — not that Stu’s keeping track — that Randy manages to worm his way into his thoughts. The first four had been while Stu had showered, and man had that gotten him bothered. Stu smacks his head, as if that’ll help shake the thought out, and walks into his closet.
He can’t afford to fuck up tonight, Stu reminds himself. He knows it’ll go just fine, he and Billy will survive and get away with the perfect crime while living the lives they’ve always dreamed about.
Together.
It’s a comforting thought. Stu can’t say he’s ever felt valued as much as Billy has valued him, always letting him know when he’s done a good job and involving him every step of the way. Billy’s the first person to be fully transparent with him, as far as he can tell. He has a silver tongue when he needs it, sure, but he typically says things as they are and gets to the point, without caring for how it’ll come off. Stu had never really seen that before from anyone in his life, so when Billy tells him he cares about him, he knows he means it.
Or so he tells himself.
It’s hard to tell with him sometimes, and Stu hadn’t inherited Randy’s prowess despite studying him for so long. But Billy feels as genuine as Randy had, so he figures that Billy has to be telling him the truth. Especially considering how he’s seen Billy act around others who he knew he despised, there was no room for debate on how they felt about each other. This was clear. Easy.
Stu reaches up to the boxes sitting on the shelf in his closet and pulls out the Ghostface costume. He manages to pull something else down with it that lands near his feet. He cusses under his breath and kicks it off to the side as he buries the costume underneath some clothes he’s piled in the corner of his closet. Once it’s sufficiently hidden, he turns his attention to whatever fell and freezes.
Chucky’s horribly scrawled face stares back up at him, with the words “Happy Birthday!” drawn in bloody, red letters just above it. Stu doesn’t realize he’s reaching for the card until he feels it in his hands. There’s a weight to it that he doesn’t remember there being, and he slowly opens it to see the words “Friends ‘til the End!” written in the same bloody red lettering. There’s another drawing here, too, but instead of Chucky, it’s a stick figure drawing of him and Randy huddled underneath a mountain of blankets and pillows whilst sitting in front of a tv.
Stu isn’t sure if he’s about to have a fucking conniption over seeing this card but he is sure that he’s trembling the longer he holds onto it. He lets it fall to the floor and sits against the wall, hugging his legs close to his chest. He glances up at the box it fell from and sees Randy’s name faintly scribbled on the side of it. In his writing. Stu thinks back to the last time he saw this card. He’d angrily written Randy’s name on a box his mom had given him to clear up storage and stuffed it full of all the things he didn’t want to see from him anymore. All of the photos, the cards, the gifts. He’d wanted to get rid of it all in hopes that he’d stop hurting.
But he just couldn’t get rid of the damn box.
He’d tried several times to throw it out, to hand it to his mom so she could throw it out or toss it in the garage, but every single time he’d stopped himself. He couldn’t even figure out why, and in his frustration he’d just tossed it on his shelf and called it quits. Out of sight, out of mind, in a place where he felt comfortable enough to leave it to gather dust. The memories haunted him, of course, but were only really present in his dreams nowadays.
Stu lets out a shaky breath. Was he crying? His hands touch wet cheeks and he realizes that yes, he is crying. He stands, swaying slightly, and walks back into his bathroom. His sink turns on and water splashes on his face as he tries to calm himself. But god he just can’t relax, now can he? The card being the final nail in the coffin for the truth he’s danced around for so long.
Life just wasn’t fair.
Stu realized that years ago but it had never been such a hard pill to swallow before. He knows it’s because of Randy keeping him sane, keeping him level-headed enough to enjoy what little thrill he found in his mundane life. He isn’t sure he ever told Randy that or if it was something he already knew just by looking at Stu whenever they’d hung out. But he never knew, had he? He couldn’t have, because if he had then he wouldn’t have left.
Right?
Now you’re getting it, he hears Billy’s voice say, echoing from the back of his mind. If he really cared about you, and if you two were really as in sync as you said you were, he’d still be here, wouldn’t he?
He would be, Stu knows that as fact in his heart. He would still be around and Stu would still be wrapped around his finger like he always had been. Because what they had, although gone unspoken, was simple. Comfortable. Despite what others might’ve thought, despite how easily Stu knows Randy would’ve begged to keep things secret, despite how dangerous it might’ve been, Stu would have lived it for Randy. Loved it for Randy, the thrill of it all. And everything was going their way right up until freshman year of high school.
Until Sidney.
And suddenly, Stu’s anger comes back to him. He hears Billy’s calm and reassuring words and sees the look in his eyes that he craved so desperately from Randy and remembers exactly why he agreed to all of this. He couldn’t have the future he wanted with Randy anymore, but he could have it with Billy.
It could be so easy with Billy.
It could be so easy with Randy gone.
And as Stu stares at his reflection in his bathroom mirror, the doorbell rings. It echoes throughout the house and brings him out of his thoughts, back into reality. He stands in his bathroom, alone, and his anger disappears as abruptly as it appeared. Dread slowly creeps in, seeping into every portion of his body that will feel it. Had that thought been his own? Or some other voice that had forced its way in? Stu couldn’t tell anymore, and he was almost too exhausted to care. He was tired of thinking, tired of worrying about the next step, tired of hiding.
Billy never really got that. Something else he misses about Randy.
A small voice in the back of his head reminds him of his worries about Billy gutting Randy before he even makes it to the party.
Another voice reminds him that it won’t matter after tonight.
He and Billy will be the sole survivors tonight.
And nothing is going to stand in the way of that.
SUMMARY: Jeff is, somehow, convinced to go to karaoke with Liu. [AO3 link]
Jeff doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.
He glances around the shopping outlet Liu’s convinced their parents to drive them to. There’s tons of people walking around with shopping bags, gossiping and laughing as they pass him by. He stares up at the arcade spot they’re currently standing in front of, and he spots the giant “Karaoke Lounge” sign off to the side. It takes all the strength he has within him to not jump back into the car and tell Liu he would join him some other time.
“We won’t be long, I promise,” he can hear Liu saying. “Just two hours max.”
Jeff knows that last bit is more for his sake than their parents’.
He feels Liu’s hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Liu flash him an encouraging smile. He hears the car pull away, his fate for the next two hours sealed. He can feel his dread growing.
“Two hours,” Liu repeats. Jeff nods in acknowledgment, which is enough for Liu to guide him towards the Karaoke Lounge. Seriously, what had Liu talked him into?
The lounge doesn’t look particularly inviting to Jeff. Everything’s white and plain, with the most color coming from a sign on an empty desk with the words “We’ll be right back!” and a smiley face written on it in blue ink. The desk sits right beside a long hall of doors. Jeff can see disco lights coming through some of the doors, but he can’t hear anyone singing. He hopes that means the rooms are soundproof, but something tells him he’s hoping for too much.
“C’mon, Jeff.”
Liu tugs Jeff’s sleeve and walks him down the hall. Jeff wants to open his mouth to protest but he suddenly can’t find the strength to. He glances around, just to make sure a desk clerk hasn’t spontaneously spawned in behind them, and finds himself clinging to Liu. Liu doesn’t push him away, but Jeff can’t help but wonder if he’s already fed up with him.
They reach a door at the very end of the hall and stand in front of it. Jeff realizes that it’s the only one with a window, albeit the glass is patterned, so he can't actually make anything out when he peers in. He feels Liu shrug him off as he places his hands on his shoulders.
“You’re gonna be okay. My friends are gonna love you.”
Jeff isn’t so sure, but he doesn’t voice the thought. He offers a weak smile, which is enough for Liu to open the door and walk in. Jeff follows, and is met with a small room with a tv, a small table, and a couch filled with Liu’s friends. Jeff doesn’t know when Liu had the time to make so many friends, but he reminds himself that Liu also likes interacting with people, so it wouldn’t be that hard for him to make friends.
He scans their faces but he doesn’t recognize any of them, at least not right away. He can hear Liu introducing him to them and they all stare up at him expectantly. He immediately stands behind Liu, which causes the group to laugh. Liu says something else, something he doesn’t catch, before introducing the group to him. There’s so many of them that it’s hard to keep track of the names but he manages to remember a Ben, two Jacks, a Jason, and a Natalie. Possibly even a Tim and a Brian but he can’t be sure.
One of the Jacks hands Liu a microphone and Jeff suddenly finds himself sitting on the couch holding one, too. Everyone around him is singing, screaming out the lyrics to the song, and Jeff doesn’t know how it happened so fast. He stares up at the screen but doesn’t recognize the song, so he finds himself leaning against Liu and cradling the microphone in his hands. Liu wraps an arm around Jeff and moves his body along to the beat of the song. There’s a warmth in the gesture that helps Jeff relax a little and allows him to sway with the music.
Jeff watches the others sing, some of them horrendously off-key but still clearly enjoying themselves. It amuses him, to an extent, and it’s almost enough to make him smile.
Almost.
There’s something in the way the others act and look that feels familiar to Jeff. He doesn’t know how or why, but it’s something that bothers him more than it comforts him. It almost feels like he should know them, but his brain keeps coming back with nothing each time he tries to remember them. He tries to brush it off and shove the feeling down, but it stubbornly stays put.
He’s distracted when he feels Liu gently pushing the microphone into his face. Jeff rolls his eyes and holds it up, feeling his dread grow once more.
It was time.
He knows he isn’t going to get out of this one. Liu convinced him to come so now it was his time to follow through with his promise. He stares up at the tv, and as the lyrics show up on the screen, he hears Liu snicker in his ear. He gently shoves Liu off of him, doing his best to come off annoyed at the song selection, but Liu brings Jeff into a tight side hug, causing him to groan.
“This is gonna be great,” Liu says, and he’s practically grinning from ear to ear.
It takes all of Jeff’s willpower not to bolt out of the room and call their parents early.
Jeff nearly misses his cue to sing when he realizes that the room has fallen silent to listen to him, but he recovers quickly enough that he’s sure the others won’t notice. He faces away from the others, knowing that if he dares to look, he will falter and embarrass himself more than he already has. But he can still feel their gazes on him, and it’s almost enough to make him stop anyway.
Somehow, he manages to get through the song. A wave of relief washes over him as it ends and the group claps and cheers as he sinks into the couch. His face feels hot and he’s sure he’s red, so he hands his microphone to Liu, who hands it off to another friend in the group, and hides his face in Liu’s shoulder. He feels Liu pat his arm as the next song begins, and he takes in a few deep breaths before peeking out, where he sees Ben and one of the Jacks singing a song together. Jack looks less than thrilled to be singing it, which makes Jeff laugh a little.
Liu suddenly stands and plants himself in front of the tv. Undeterred, Jack tries to peek around him to look at the screen, but Liu merely moves his body in the same direction. Ben and Jack frown.
“Liu, get out of the way.” Liu grins. Jack gets up and continues singing but Liu simply jumps up and down to further obscure his view. “LIU GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!” Jack reaches out to shove Liu, but Liu manages to grab his arm and pull him into a hug before spinning him around in a circle as he sings the words for Jack. Jack lets out a yelp as he squirms in Liu’s arms.
Jeff’s laughing now. He’s laughing so hard that his face hurts and tears are streaming down his face. He’s sure that he’ll pass out if Liu continues but he can’t find his voice to tell him to stop. Neither can the others, though, who are also crying with laughter at the scene unfolding in front of them. Jeff falls to the ground and the rest of the room dissolves into silent laughter.
Liu lets go of Jack and collapses beside Jeff on the ground. He has the widest smile on his face and it’s one that Jeff doesn’t want to see fade away. He can hear everyone around him trying to catch their breaths, but Jack grumbles something under his breath that gets everyone laughing again. Liu doesn’t seem to be paying attention to him, though. His eyes are still trained on Jeff, and there’s a look of pride in them that lets Jeff know that he did good. He then says something to Jeff, and he says it quiet enough so that only he can hear it.
“I told you you’d be okay.”
Jeff wakes with a start.
His heart is racing in his chest and there’s a ringing in his ears that overwhelms him for a moment. He sees the stars above him in the night sky and feels the cold seep into him. He looks around and sees trees in every direction, spanning as far as his eyes can see. His knife lays beside him on the forest floor. He slowly stands, the smell of his blood soaked clothes hitting him full force now, and stares down at his bloody hands.
SUMMARY: Eyeless Jack is in desperate need of a distraction from the voices. He doesn't expect this, though. [AO3 link]
CONTENT WARNING(S): Self-Harm mentioned
He can hear them. At the back of his mind, slowly growing louder the longer he tossed and turned in his bed.
We don’t need sleep.
We need to cut into ourselves and find the secrets within.
We need to throw ourselves against the wall to see what breaks.
We need to drown in the river to see how much water our body can hold.
His body aches, its desire to satisfy their cravings growing stronger as the seconds pass. It finally becomes too much and he sits up from the ground, exhausted. The voices grew louder with every passing night. They were manageable before, but the sudden influx of killers seeking him out for help was starting to take a toll on him. More than he’d care to admit.
It was time for a distraction.
Eyeless Jack stands and adjusts his mask properly on his face. He drags his feet to the cabin’s door and leans against it. The smooth wood feels cool on his skin. He lets out a pleased sigh, but it’s short lived. The voices grow louder. He stumbles out into the night, his hands shoved into his pockets, as he walks into the surrounding woods. It doesn’t take long for the trees to start shifting, but without a set destination in mind, he isn’t sure where he’ll end up.
Right where you need to be, a voice in his head tells him. It’s his own voice, he realizes, but he doesn’t know how he heard it above the others.
The wind caused by the shifting trees feel great against him. He lifts his mask and allows the cool air to whip against it, it’s force enough to send him walking a few steps backward. His cravings do not subside, however. The voices beg for more, urge him to slam his body into one of the trees as it moves to see where he’ll land, how hard he’ll hit the ground. His body trembles as he fights every urge to give in. He puts his mask back on and trudges on.
After a few moments, the trees slow to a stop and form a path before him. It’s harder to see now, though, and he sees the trees have lined up so close together, with their branches hanging over the path, that he assumes they’ve blocked out all the moonlight that was previously shining down on him.
Nevertheless, he follows the path. The dirt beneath his feet is unexpectedly soft, much to the displeasure of the voices. He’s sure that he hasn’t been here, wherever here is, so his curiosity is piqued enough to ignore them. The dirt eventually gives way to grass and he looks up to see a lake in the distance.
Sweet peace, he thinks to himself.
He doesn’t make it to the lake, though. Not yet. He hears rapid footsteps approaching him from his left side and he turns to scan the trees for movement. There’s a flash of white that darts between the trees closest to him and in a split second, he finds himself side stepping out of the way as the white mass launches out of the trees and slams into a tree across the path. A loud groan escapes the white mass, and it takes a second for him to realize that the white mass is actually Jeff in his hoodie.
“You bitch!” Jeff hisses.
The voices agree with Jeff, disappointed that they couldn’t indulge the craving, but Eyeless Jack smiles as he watches Jeff slur out curses at him.
“It’s great to see you too,” he says simply. He reaches out to Jeff, who clings to the tree he landed against, and gently helps him up, much to Jeff’s annoyance. An annoyance that he doesn’t hesitate to voice, per usual.
“Stop touching me, that– OW FUCK– Stop treating me like I’m fragile– SON OF A BITCH– You’re an asshole, why didn’t you just let me–”
“If you ran quieter, you would have caught me off guard, Jeff.”
Jeff glares at Eyeless Jack. He expects Jeff to continue shouting at him, per usual, so he’s surprised when Jeff simply walks down the path, hissing and cussing under his breath. He follows him, in part to make sure he doesn’t collapse on him but also to investigate the reason for the sudden change in his demeanor.
The end of the path widens out into a clearing of grass that sat before a vast, calm lake. Its reflection shows the cloudy sky above them, but the clouds don’t indicate any signs of rain as far as Eyeless Jack can tell. But he wasn’t one to reject rain, anyway. There were worse things to be inconvenienced by.
Eyeless Jack turns his attention back to Jeff, who was now glaring down at the grass. Eyeless Jack realized he could see him better here, see the splatter of blood on his sleeves and the smeared blood on his face and neck. Jeff was hunched over slightly, his hand pressed against his side. Eyeless Jack recognizes the stance.
This idiot.
“Who did you get into a fight with this time?”
The question causes Jeff to direct his glare at him, a scowl now plastered on his face. Eyeless Jack figures he won’t answer him – he never really does, leaving him to find out weeks later when the other killers mock Jeff for it – but he can’t help but try to distract himself from the voices in his head. He knows they would just love to live inside Jeff’s head for a day.
“Why the fuck do you care? Wanna scold me like I’m a fucking five year old?”
The question takes him aback. Jeff’s tone betrays the hurt he was trying to conceal, but it’s also dripping with an anger that he’s only seen a few times. It slowly dawns on him that, despite the time he’s spent getting to know Jeff’s habits, they might not view one another the same. There’s no way to outright ask Jeff, however, without him mocking the question for what it is and storming off to do who knows what. So instead, he slowly lifts his hands in defense, hoping the gesture is enough to convey the thought to Jeff.
Jeff’s scowl softens a little and he looks out to the lake. He’s still for a moment, and Eyeless Jack wonders what thoughts are running through his head to leave him so quiet. He doesn’t get to ask though, as Jeff breaks his silence with a heaved sigh and runs a hand through his hair. Eyeless Jack notes that his palms and fingers are bleeding, but the cuts the blood flows from are particularly precise and straight edged. It tells him that the cuts were self-made, and that Jeff’s ticks have returned. He’ll have to convince Jeff to go back to his cabin somehow, but that would be for later.
Jeff shoves hands into the front pockets of his jeans and pulls something out from them. He shoves them into his front hoodie pocket before Eyeless Jack can see, though. He tilts his head back, staring up at the sky. His expression is relaxed now, albeit replaced with an emotion Eyeless Jack can’t quite pinpoint. The tension that was in the air had dissipated, though, so he takes that as some sort of victory. It isn’t until Jeff extends an arm out to Eyeless Jack that he realizes what’s fully happening.
A pack of cigarettes and a lighter sit in Jeff’s bloody palm.
Because Jeff was never one to apologize. Eyeless Jack was convinced he couldn’t, but that was neither here nor there. The message is clear.
A peace offering.
Eyeless Jack gingerly takes them from his hand and opens the pack to see that it’s full. He doesn’t ask Jeff where he got these items, knowing full well that would ruin this moment of peace, but he nods to Jeff and steps away from him. It’s enough to get Jeff to grunt in acknowledgement before his hands disappears behind his back.
The voices scream at him to stop as he stares at the pack of cigarettes. He feels a thrill knowing that they know what comes next.
He lifts his mask, just enough to expose his mouth, and presses a cigarette to his lips. He lights it and inhales deeply, feels the smoke fill his lungs, and the sting that comes with it spreads throughout his whole chest and throat. He holds his breath then, lets the discomfort sit there for a while as it fills every space left in his body and satiates his craving, silences the voices.
Everything goes silent, for a moment.
And then he hears the crickets chirping in the distance, accompanied by the sudden howl of a coyote. And he feels just about ready to pass out, so he tilts his head up to the sky and lets out his breath. The rush of relief that washes over him as he watches the smoke billow above him is enough to get him smiling again.
“EJ?”
For a moment, he forgot Jeff was there.
He turns to Jeff and sees him still standing a few feet away from him. Jeff’s eyes are trained on him but his clenched jaw makes it clear that he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on. Which, Eyeless Jack realizes, is a good thing.
“...Yes?”
Jeff opens his mouth to speak but immediately turns away from Eyeless Jack, muttering something under his breath. This change amuses him, but once he sees Jeff clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly, he quickly pivots back to concern.
“Do you…” Eyeless Jack hesitates on his next choice words. He knows Jeff won’t ask for help on account of his ego, even if he’s on the verge of another collapse. “Do you smoke, Jeff?” Jeff shakes his head, burying his hands back into his hoodie pocket. He doesn’t turn around, though, causing further concern for Eyeless Jack. “Do you want to try? If you’re interested, that is.”
Jeff doesn’t react at first. Eyeless Jack almost convinces himself that Jeff hadn’t heard him, but he notices Jeff’s hands stop twitching in his pockets. And then he hears Jeff cuss under his breath – in the way he does when he feels like he can’t talk himself out of whatever situation he’s put himself in, like he’s been defeated – and sigh. Jeff slowly turns around to face him, his lips pulled into a tight-lipped frown, and closes the gap between them.
“What’s so good about it?” Jeff grumbles.
Eyeless Jack wordlessly holds the cigarette out to Jeff, who takes it and holds it up to his lips. He watches as Jeff takes a drag and immediately lets the smoke out with a wheeze. His face turns to disgust as he looks at Eyeless Jack.
“What the fuck EJ.”
“You get over the taste after a while, if that’s what’s–”
Jeff shakes his head and glances out to the lake as he takes another drag from the cigarette. Eyeless Jack follows his gaze and sees in the water’s reflection that the clouds have parted. He walks closer to the water’s edge and looks up to see the stars, hundreds of them scattered across the sky, shining down on them. The sight leaves him breathless again and he’s suddenly filled with a flurry of emotions that run through his body faster than he can identify them.
He doesn’t realize his mouth is open until Jeff elbows him in his side and snickers.
“What? Never seen stars before?”
“They’ve never been so bright…” he murmurs.
He half expects Jeff to start laughing at him, but when he instead feels him standing right beside him, he knows that this night really is different. That this moment is just for the two of them, no matter how brief, and that things would be different moving forward.
Despite being a serial killer, he's the only one who "appreciates" death, in some sense. He's had to learn so much anatomy and how the human body works that he's learned to appreciate and also detest the way it works and how everything's situated
Finds some thrill in encountering a victim who's actually more difficult to take down, who can sustain more injuries than most, and figuring out what it'll take to finally end their life
Will get exasperated if they don't go down after he inflicts an injury he believes should kill them, though. Goes in for a particularly vicious kill after that
At some point had a journal where he documented victims like that but eventually lost the journal and didn't bother looking for a replacement
Sometimes he'll tell Ben, though. And Ben will document for him if asked. And so now he'll document it digitally through him
Is a bit of a masochist, but would never admit this
Constantly has to refrain and restrain himself from self-mutilating to figure out what his limits are
Looks up at the stars or into lakes (or just stares out into nature in general) to distract himself, since the serenity of it all seems to do wonders on his psyche
It's also why he smokes
Fighting other killers is really the only time he can find out what his limits might be, but his need to keep his limits a secret from literally everyone else prevents him from testing thoroughly
He figures Jeff could probably kill him quicker than he'd like to admit, though
Back to learning how the body works, he's also learned animal anatomy and how different that all is to humans
Has become a makeshift vet when the time calls for it (see: Smile Dog)
He never really knows how to treat the vaguely humanoid creatures that come to him for help so he just mixes methods that work for humans and animals with each other and hopes for the best
There was an incident where he had to patch Seed Eater up. It was an unsettling time
I remember seeing people a while back portray Seed Eater as EJ's pet and I personally don't agree but because I don't think Seed Eater would allow himself to be belittled with such a title (it's still a nice idea though, I liked the fanart I saw from it)
I like to think that they tend to stay away from each other as much as possible unless their interaction can mutually benefit them. EJ can give Seed Eater things to lure people to eat them and Seed Eater lets him live and leaves him alone
They never seek each other out, they just happen to run into each other sometimes
Which is wild when it does happen because neither of them stay in one place for too long
There's something about standing and looking out into a sea of orange. Flowers upon flowers decorating graves, all different shapes and sizes. These people were all loved, once. And they continue to be, their memories continuing on through the people that lost them.
The ones that bear no markings, the ones with no beacons to light them into the night. Those haunt me.
Masky, Eyeless Jack, and Jeff smoke. Masky smokes the most out of the entire group and Jeff smokes the least
Eyeless Jack and Jeff make a terrifying duo to encounter alone. Jeff’s chaotic and impulsive nature balances EJ’s calculated demeanor, making for a fight that’s brutal and drawn out for the sake of inflicting the most pain in the worst ways possible
If you know them well enough, though, you can definitely find ways to turn them against each other. A strategy that Masky and Hoodie like using when they can't be bothered to fight them (which doesn't happen often to begin with)
Masky and Hoodie communicate with each other via random hand and arm gestures they've come up with. Eyeless Jack has managed to decipher some of the signs but refuses to tell Jeff which ones or their meanings
Masky
His smoking habit is from his younger days and he’s never been able to kick the habit. At this point, he doesn’t really want to since it helps “stabilize” him
Cannot go long periods of time without smoking, so he's constantly asking Hoodie to find him more if he isn't currently stealing them himself
Bro's a menace without his smokes, someone stop him
(That someone is usually Hoodie, but to varying degrees of success)
Speaks in short sentences to avoid himself from coughing too violently (and also because he'd rather not talk)
Definitely coughs in his sleep though. There have definitely been times that Hoodie has tried suffocating him in his sleep just so he can get sleep. Masky doesn’t hold it against him
Reeks of cigarettes and sweat. Guaranteed.
Can't really stand when people around him are noticeably dirty though (looks or smell-wise). No one understands why
Is the only one who's got a car. No one knows how or where he got it or how it's even operating, but no one else is allowed to drive it besides Hoodie (and he's on thin ice)
That doesn't stop Jeff from trying to steal it for a joyride sometimes (which usually fails)
Eyeless Jack
Smokes to “ground himself” and keep his cool when he feels like he’s about to go off the edge
Tied with Masky and Hoodie for being the least expressive emotions-wise. You cannot tell what he’s thinking unless you’ve known him for a very long time and he considers you an ally
Considers very few people friends. Jeff, somehow, is one of them
Loves to get under Jeff’s skin the most
Is also Jeff's impulse control whenever they're around (doesn't work 100% of the time though)
Doesn’t understand why everyone goes to him specifically when they have medical issues but he’s got plenty of people who owe him favors because of it
Also forced himself to learn how to heal a bunch of different injuries and medications because why does everyone go to him for their medical issues???
Is constantly stealing medical supplies if nothing else
He’s not as much of a clean freak as you’d expect, though
His mask does not come off unless he’s sleeping, he feels vulnerable without it on. Also rarely sleeps.
Will attack you if you try to take the mask off
Jeff
Jeff’s a social smoker and won’t smoke alone unless it pisses off the other person he’s with. He’s an ornery little shit that loves pissing people off and pushing their buttons
He knows his limits, though, despite people thinking he’s a dumbass for the sake of being a dumbass. That doesn’t mean his ego doesn’t get in the way sometimes
He's got the biggest ego seen on the planet, next to Slenderman (and a couple others)
Jeff hates feeling pain so much that he’ll inflict more pain on himself to counteract it. It’s a vicious, ironic cycle that he continues until he passes out or until Eyeless Jack helps him out
Absolutely reeks. Usually of blood, always of B.O.
Despite knives being his go-to weapon, he's pretty decent in handling any other weapon you give him (totally not out of necessity from pissing off so many others with different weapons)
