Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He was running, sprinting through the near-total darkness. The drum beat of his heart was loud to even his own ears, practically synchronized to every footfall when they slapped against the cobbled ground. Pale white branches reached out to snag against his clothing, rip and tear at the cloth, at his skin, as he fled from his pursuer, and the hot breath that nipped at his ankles.

It felt like hours had passed like that, a constant never-ending chase with no relief, only the briefest moments where he thought this time, for sure, this time it had caught him. Momentary stumbles over forest debris, forks in the path where he would slow down, unsure where to turn, times where he tried to catch his breath for just a second until he could hear it coming close too close too close right behind him and he had to keep running, push himself beyond what should have been possible in the desperate hope he might escape.

But as he ran, the tree limbs gradually shifted form, mottled bark to smooth skin and twigs into fingers that pulled at him, grasped for his skin, held him until he was dragged down into the grass and leaves, stones digging painfully into his face while he screamed and begged for release.

He could sense when it came, the bestial thing that had been chasing him. It was above him, he could see its twisted bloody arms on either side of his head, the gouges in the thing’s skin still bleeding fresh gore onto the dirt. One mangled limb curled under his chest, the claws pressed directly over his heart as it gently, slowly, flipped him over to stare into its face.

It was something beyond horror.

Darkness, pure void, only broken by pinpricks of light where eyes would be, and a terrible shining grin, full of teeth and spit. The edges of it blended into the dark sky above in a way that made it seem impossibly vast, as it stared down from its place over him in absolute silence. Watching him as he lay there, frozen in the headlights of its awful smile.

He knew in an instant that the sight of it would never leave him.

He knew that this had to be a dream.

But still, he screamed, when the claws resting against his chest pierced through cloth and skin, carving through the muscle and bone to curl around his beating heart, scooping it from the gore and viscera of his body, and tore it out, slow and cruel, from his corpse.

…

…

…

This was when he was supposed to wake up.

…

…

…

In the movies, this is where the nightmare ends.

But he was bleeding out onto the ground now, the monster on all fours above him, his own still-beating heart in its fist. The thing just… stayed there, its awful smile unmoved, unchanged. All he could do was stare back. Something called out from all around them, a voice Tommy knew better than anyone’s. Soft, sweet.

Innocent.

“What are you doing, Tommy?”

His own voice was barely more than a whisper, faded breath, when he replied.

“I’m dying, I think. I’m dying. I don’t know.”

Claws danced down his exposed torso, from the gaping wound made of his chest cavity to his stomach, lines of blood left as a trail, a macabre finger painting. Eventually, it took its free hand and reached to his shoulder, held his upper arm. Squeezed, once.

“This isn’t real, you know that. You’re supposed to know better than this.”

The creature's saliva was a soothing balm when it dripped onto his cracked lips.

“I didn’t mean to.”

His pulsating heart dropped to the ground beside his head with a squelch, spattering blood across his cheek, as the claws that had held it reached for his face, caressing him gently.

“You don’t pretend like this. It’s selfish, Tommy, after everything you put them through. We just don’t play along anymore, not again.”

As the terrible thing leaned into him, around him, pressed against every part of him, the tiny stars of its eyes were all he could see. They hovered inside the void that encompassed his body, that crushed him into nothing.

“I’m sorry.”

Darkness.

“I’m sorry.”

Pain.

“I’m sorry.”

He deserved it.

Another nightmare. They were becoming an awful routine.

This one had woken him up early though, hours before his morning classes, and he’d spent a long time just… lying in bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling and foolishly hoping to pass out again. But the scene wouldn’t leave him, every time he closed his eyes he saw it hovering above him, that awful creature. Sometimes the vision shifted, becoming a blurry human image beyond any recognition, and he’d shake it away, turn to bury his head in the pillow, only to feel his skin crawl at the conjured feeling of breath against his nape. Tossing and turning endlessly like that, there was no chance he’d get back to sleep. Eventually, brought to the brink by his self-exasperation, knowing that he’d have class later that day, he’d decided to try something he’d never really thought of before.

Actual coffee. From his usual coffeeshop, the Hallowed Grounds café.

He squinted at the menus hanging behind the counter, words swimming in his vision. He’d… never gotten anything but hot chocolate here. What the hell was he supposed to order when he wanted an actual coffee? What was a “latte” and what made it “mocha?” What was mocha? He’d never even heard of that flavor before, was it good? How was he supposed to get something with chocolate? If he asked for a hot chocolate with coffee, would they give it to him?

Stuck in his coffee thoughts and coffee feelings, he almost didn’t hear the voice of a man next to him whisper in apparent awe.

“Oh my god.”

Ugh, tell me about it. This shit is ridiculous.

Cause what the fuck was matcha then, was it like another version of mocha? What was the difference? Could he get both in one drink? Like an ice-cream swirl, so he could try them and find out which one he liked more? Maybe coffee shops had samples just like ice cream parlors, and he could ask for a little spoon of whatever the hell “espresso” was.

He heard someone cough. “Uh, hi! Hi there.”

Holy shit, he was just not ready to order in the slightest. Tommy braced himself for the inevitability of looking very silly, when he got up to the counter. He’d push on though, that sort of stuff never really bothered him. It was easy to laugh at yourself when you were prepared for the embarrassment.

He was not prepared, however, for the hand that suddenly curled around his shoulder claws digging into the flesh, and he found himself frozen stiff in its grasp.

“Hello. You look… familiar. Haven’t we met?”

When he turned, slow, careful, to face the threat, all he could see was a white gleaming smile. Teeth bared. Everything else was a blur.

“W-what?”

“I was asking if you might remember me. Maybe not? That’s fine, you just seemed familiar, but I guess you don’t- I mean we haven’t. Met. Yet.” An awkward laugh, only exposing more of his teeth. Tommy had never seen canines that sharp. “Anyways, we’re holding up the line a bit, everyone’s been waiting behind you while you… read the menu?”

Were they? Was he? Everything felt too far away in that moment, including the counter where the register was placed. Even his own hands felt distant, and numb.

“Are you having trouble picking? I can help you if you want. Actually… why don’t you let me buy you a drink? My treat, obviously.” A small chuckle. “I would be very happy to.”

And the hand moved down to his upper arm. Squeezed, once.

Tommy ripped himself from the man’s grasp, a violent movement, stumbling back into the person standing in line behind him. He heard a heavy clattering sound, and when he turned around to check, he saw a laptop had fallen to the ground from the hands of the other man who had caught him, and who was now staring at him in shock, under the hood pulled over his head.

“S-sorry! I’m sorry,” Tommy stammered as he knelt down to pick up the thankfully-intact laptop, shoving it back into the hands of its owner, hoping to God that he wasn’t angry. It was hard to tell behind the face mask, all he could see were his wide green eyes.

In fact, they were all staring at him, everyone in line, attention drawn to the walking disaster he’d made of himself. The weight of their collective gaze was crushing, he couldn’t even bear to turn around, look at the other guy who’d just been talking to him, who surely now thought he was insane. He wasn’t he wasn’t he couldn’t be-

He needed to just… fucking leave. This whole thing was a failure from the start, doomed from the moment he’d woken up shaking, crying, and yet still decided that he could be a functional person today. And to think, all he’d wanted was a stupid fucking coffee.

In an embarrassing reflex, he just started laughing, the sound bubbling up from his throat. He covered his burning red face with his hands, felt them shake slightly.

Great. Now they definitely think I’m stable.

“Oh god, I have to go. I’m sorry, god, I fuckin’- I’m leaving. Bye.”

So he did, pushing past the rest of the customers, ignoring the voice behind him that pleaded him to “wait!” and just got the hell out of that coffee shop.

Fuck. That was his favorite cafe. What an embarrassment.

Tommy practically sprinted past the metal chairs and patio umbrellas, into the park across the walkway, ignoring the cobbled paths to run directly through the trees. He scrambled over a small grassy hill to flop down to the ground on the other side, into a somewhat-isolated clearing that served as one of his typical hangout spots. As cloudy and chill as the weather was, the place still looked like a miniature paradise in his eyes. Winter wildflowers took advantage of the seclusion to sprout in peace, away from the average park-goer. It was nice. He could breathe here.

But when his back hit the grass, the feeling of leaves and stones against it had him immediately sitting back up. And that… that wasn’t fair. This was his park. His fucking safe space. He wasn’t in danger, it was just some dumb fucking dream. He tilted back into the dirt with an aggravated groan and a purpose, determined to ignore the itching discomfort, from the grass and his own shitty mind.

He’d have to try again for that coffee, in an hour or so. Enough time so that every customer inside would have left already. And then he’d keep trying, the whole day, push himself to be Tommy and let every person he passed know exactly who that was. For now, better to pretend that last incident just never happened. Try to forget about the whole horrible, horrible, horrible moment. Wash it away from his mind, rinsed out with the rain that the clouded sky above was promising him.

It was nice, he thought, as he stared up into the rolling sea of grey, having something to actually look forward to.

Yeah, it was really pouring down now.

Three or four days ago, it had just been those clouds and some light sprinkles, but today was the day the sky finally broke down into tears. Heavy, cold, miserable tears. It was great.

Tommy walked between the campus buildings towards his next class, English 102, umbrella in hand and humming merrily, right at home with the weather. He’d… foregone his blue sweater for a red nylon raincoat, and while it was colder and more stiff it was certainly comfortable enough. Especially after he’d finally tried putting on the old knit thing, for the first time since… for the first time in more than a week, and found that he couldn’t shake the discomfort, the feeling of disembodied hands running along the places where the fabric clung to him. He’d practically ripped the sweater off his body after that, thrown it back under the bed, and started digging through his closet for anything else to wear on a cold rainy day.

Just another major downside to having such an active imagination. He’d definitely need to get over it sooner or later. Maybe try “immersion therapy” or something.

And just as he had the thought, as if by pure happenstance, Tommy found himself passing by the entrance to the Psychology building, an old brick monument dedicated to every course in the subject. Maybe it was a sign from God? Telling him to go back to therapy after all? He reckoned it was a pretty cryptic sign, the only thing he actually saw when he stopped at the bottom of the stairs was a woman on the other side of the glass doors, struggling to open them with all the bags she was carrying.

Wait.

Tommy would recognize that pink hair anywhere.

“… Niki?”

Quickly, he bounded up the steps and knocked on the door to warn her, so she’d back away before he slammed them open. He then stepped aside to let her pass, moving his umbrella to shelter them both. And he watched her gather herself, adjusting her heavy load of bagged papers, and saw the way her relieved smile dropped when she finally looked up to see him there. Gone, when she recognized him.

“Thank you, thank you, I don’t know why I… Tommy?”

“Hi, Niki.”

They stared for a bit. Tommy… didn’t really know what to say. Helping her had been such a natural impulse, he hadn’t even thought twice about it, or about what he would say to her after. Thank god for the weather, he supposed. Easy conversation starter.

“It’s, uh, raining pretty hard right now Niki. Where’s your umbrella?”

Her eyes widened like she’d only just realized her mistake.

“Oh no, I think I left in back in the Library, oh god how I could I be that stupid?”

“I don’t know… there was a break in the rain earlier, couple hours ago maybe-”

“I definitely just walked here without it,” she held her hands to her head, groaning once, “I was so worried about all these forms, I should’ve never asked for this TA position.”

“Um-” she cut him off with a sigh.

“It’s okay, I have to bring these papers back there anyway. In the rain, agh!”

“I’ll walk you there. We can go on a bit of a stroll.” Tommy said the last part with a flourish, injecting gusto with the hopes that maybe, it would sound more appealing to both of them.

“Oh, that’s… thank you, Tommy.”

He sidled closer to her, trying to fit them both under his umbrella, and reached for the bags in her left hand. “Look, give me that. We can hold them in the middle, yeah?” He stood at her right side, bags sheltered between them while they walked together, down the steps and along the pavement, by Niki’s lead.

It was… quiet. When he snuck glances at her face, she seemed lost in her own thoughts. Which was fair, he guessed. It had been a long time, and with so much history… he hadn’t exactly been prepared to meet her again. Not just because she was once his babysitter. It was… everything. All the awful memories he’d shoved into the back of his mind from that time when she’d still been in their lives. Most of all, when she’d left. Gone, with a sweep of her hair, pulling against the ties that connected them all until she could rip them from each of their chests and fly off, bloodied ribbons fluttering in her wake. Looking for another place to nest, to call home. A better family.

Oh, yeah. Her new boyfriend. Tommy cleared his throat a bit before he broke the silence to ask.

“How are things? With uh- Jack?” The surprise on her face, that transitioned to a slight cringe from the subject, had him instantly regret it.

“Oh! Um… Jack and I, we aren’t really…”

“Oh.” But her face shifted, alight with happiness, turning to look at him full on, instead of the side glances she’d been giving him before.

“I have a girlfriend now, actually, she’s very nice. Very cool!” She was smiling, and smiled harder when Tommy pumped his fist.

“Lets fucking go, gay women!” She gave a little cheer, much more animated then she’d been so far. Happy, and talking. He was doing it. Thank fucking god. “No but, that’s really pog Niki, I’m glad. Real cool.”

“Yes, I think so! She’s actually so wonderful, it never feels like effort. So, so different!” She giggled a little, like she’d thought of a great joke. “I guess my track record with shitty men isn’t so great, so time to switch it up!”

Tommy stopped walking. It didn’t take long for Niki to notice, she had realized it too. Her smile was gone now, face aghast.

“Oh… no Tommy… I didn’t mean-”

“He was good to you, Niki. He was.”

“No, I know, that’s not what I-”

“You can’t- you can’t mean that-”

“I don’t, I promise. Tommy just let me-”

“That isn’t fair. It’s not fair at all-”

“Tommy.” He cut off at her serious tone, looked into her eyes. Stern, unyielding, just the barest glimmer of an old sadness. “I know.”

Niki took a deep breath, meditative and self-soothing. “I know it’s not fair. But Tommy, none of it’s fair. It never was. And… this will sound awful, I know, but it’s not all about him. We lost something, we were all hurt too, you know that-”

“Lost? Don’t act like he’s just gone, he’s-”

“No Tommy.” She had a voice of steel. “He is gone.” Her narrowed eyes watered up, mouth in a thin line. Like she really meant it.

“He’s gone.”

They stared at each other, rain pouring down around them as they stood under his umbrella, at a complete impasse. He had a sudden, selfish thought, of just — running away from her, leaving her in the rain to get to the library by herself. But he was still holding her bag. And it really was an awful thing to do anyways. Even if she was being a bi-

Don’t be mean to Niki.

The thought almost made him jump, a memory of his voice so clear that for a moment, he really thought he’d heard it. But no, it was just a memory, vivid and sudden. Thank god.

And besides, he knew the signs otherwise.

Tommy would not concede though. Not on this, and not to her. He loved her, of course, some part of him would always see Niki as his sister, and it would always be the people closest to you, your family, that hurt you the most. She was hurting him now, and that was okay, because he would let her. It didn’t mean she was right.

Eventually, it seemed like they’d both had enough of the staredown, and almost in unison they continued on, walking in silence along the wet pavement. The sound of rain falling around them seemed so much louder now, that and the way their shoes splashed in shallow puddles. As they passed a strip of planted trees and sectioned grass, that refreshing petrichor scent washed over them, and Tommy relaxed, tension rolling away. Old, painful disagreements and awkward silences held no candle to the simple beauty of nature.

Still, it was a relief to see the library building loom into view. Niki probably thought so as well, she seemed to quicken her pace ever so slightly. It was no time at all until they were standing at the sheltered entrance. Niki waited for him to shake out his umbrella, watching him patiently. Kind, once more, when she spoke in her soft voice.

“Okay. Here we are, I guess. May I?”

Her arm reached out, and he leaned forward automatically, muscle memory anticipating a hug before he could even think about all the reasons why he shouldn’t, but of course, she only took the bag from his hands. His brain caught up to his body and he immediately straightened back up, hoping to god she hadn’t noticed.

He was so stupid.

“Thank you, for helping me Tommy. You’re… really, genuinely, you’re a good kid. I’m sorry I…” he waited patiently to hear the rest, but she just trailed off, giving him some strange, pained smile, before she reached out to grab his empty hand with both of hers. “You’re a good kid.”

The bags swung between them while she held his hand, rubbing a circle with her thumb, and he hated the part of him that wished he was 10 years old again. Hated that as she turned away, a terribly familiar sight, there was some part of him that wanted desperately to scream and stomp his feet and make her stay, like she had just been babysitting him after school, playing soldiers with him the way she used to.

He only stood there, umbrella held loose at his side like a toy sword.

“I’m not a fucking kid!” He called after her, but god, she really made him feel like one.

Tommy held his phone in a tight, shaking grip, frozen where he stood at the base of an isolated stairwell. While his dorm building had elevators, he’d always been too claustrophobic to pack himself into a small box with up to five other people, and opted for the stairs every time. He was grateful now for his habits; it meant he could walk up the steps, sit down where practically no one would come by, and panic in relative peace.

Three days. It had been three days since this one was posted. And Tommy hadn’t even realized.

But, this had to mean it was someone else, not real, not about him, Tommy- he- he couldn’t even remember everything that happened three days ago, but he’d remember something like this, right? Surely he’d remember meeting someone so intense, so frightening, and he’d know just from a glance that they meant him harm. He’d see them, and instantly it would become clear that this was real.

But… he couldn't remember. It had been days and all he could recall were false alarms. A thousand different moments where he’d kept looking over his shoulder, forced himself sometimes to smile at a stranger, held back a flinch from just the slightest accidental brush of shoulders or hands. All the embarrassment, each time a painful reminder that this fear was all in his head, and he’d told himself every time to do better and be normal, be normal, be good. His nerves had settled over what he thought were days of silence, until this very moment, when he’d happened to check his notifications and find the latest in his “recommended”. Brought to a crashing halt by the caption, the stomach-turning sight of a smile on his phone screen.

If he had seen this on that day, if he hadn’t kept his fucking phone off, would he have proof? Could he have been able to run back through the day’s events after they’d just happened, remember in detail all that he’d seen and finally been able to say it didn’t quite fit? Like he’d suspected, hoped, and feared: it was never real at all?

Or, in a horrifying turn of events… that it did fit? That there was someone who stood out in a sea of faceless strangers, who stared too hard and lingered for too long, a blotch of darkness in the rolling tapestry of friendly faces that passed by everyday. If he’d seen it early, might he have been able to stay one step ahead of this monster?

The Second Rule loomed in his mind, a mantra on repeat.

Don’t engage. Don’t engage. Don’t engage.

As much as it knew it was right, what he was meant to do… had it helped him thus far? Really, honestly, what had ignoring this done for him? It was still happening. It was getting worse.

And now, more than ever, he could be in danger. There was no other way.

When he pressed the follow button, he wondered, morbidly, if this is what Wilbur would have done.