Distracting the Trapper

by Sleeping_Warrior_Panda

Summary:

The Trapper has developed a liking to Dwight. The young leader decides to take the heat off the others in trials by distracting the killer by using rather unconventional means (a.k.a his body).

Dwight did not count on developing feelings, which now puts his loyalty to the other survivors to the test.

But things are not what they seem.

There is a connection between the camp belonging to the killers and the one belonging to the survivors. And Dwight is not the only one who has secrets.

Notes:

The story starts off with snippets early in Dwight's life capture in the Entity's realm and progress further. I'll try to clarify in the chapters when a time jump is happening.

My story introduces characters mainly in the order of when chapters/expansion packs were released (with exceptions).
For fun, if anyone cares, I'm adding in the end notes of every chapter who is stuck at the campfire as well as the killer's camp.

 

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Chapter 1: A Monster With A Name

Notes:

 
 
First posted on February 13, 2022. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

 

~ One of the First ~

 

Dwight ducks low behind a pallet when he hears the heavy steps nearing his position. He clamps a hand over his mouth, hoping to stifle the sound of his erratic breathing. Eyes darting left and right, he quickly surmises that there's nowhere else to go; he's stuck, holed up at probably the most obvious hiding place out of all. He mentally curses himself loudly, panic speeding his heartbeats up to a frantic pace.



If he's just quiet enough, just lucky enough, he might be passed over.



There's not like there are any alternatives. He won't stand a chance fighting back. And he's not fast enough to outrun it.



There.

From behind some rusty scrap metal the monster shows itself. It's made its presence known the whole time of course; by the terrified screams of the people it brutally murdered, as well as by the mutilating traps strewn about; but this is the first time Dwight casts his eyes on it. That thing gives a whole new meaning to the word horrifying.

Dwight wants to scream, he wants to cry - but he won’t. He’s smarter than that.

The hulking monster passes by without noticing him and he wants to draw a sigh of relief, but there’s no time for that. He needs to leave before it comes back, because Dwight is sure he won’t be overlooked a second time.
About to leave, his foot presses down on an unnoticed piece of metal. A scream is ripped out of him as he is stabbed by excruciating pain - his leg pierced by teeth of metal. He falls to the ground in agony.

He's bleeding profusely, but his teary eyes can barely make out the blood in the moonless dark. He hits the ground with his fists, as if it will distract him from the feeling of knives being shoved into flesh and muscle.
Of course it does nothing. Instead every little movement makes the pain even worse as the metal burrows deeper into the meat of his mangled limb.

As the immediate shock passes, Dwight's screaming is replaced by pitiful whimpers. His chest shakes with suppressed sobs, his face wet with tears and snot.

He doesn’t need to look behind him to know that he’s being watched. The terror that grips him from that knowledge is a violent thing. A warm wetness spreads from his crotch to his thighs and he cries even harder at the humiliation.

Whatever kind of trap he stepped in is removed quickly and efficiently, but not without additional suffering. Dwight screams again, hoarsely this time. Hoisted into the air, he's thrown over the shoulder of the monster. When his wounded leg smacks against the broad chest of the giant creature, white-hot pain radiates through his body and -

 

 

A knife pierces his scrawny shoulder and eyes fly open in a panic.

Fuckfuckfuck it hurts! It hurts so fucking much!

There's a incredible strain on his shoulder and chest - like someone's pulling on the knife, trying to tear through his flesh. Fresh tears stream down his cheeks, smudging out the dirt and grime.

He must’ve blacked out earlier because he’s no longer at the same spot as where he was taken, although it's too dark out to see how far he's been moved.

His eyesight is foggy as he glances down, seeing a hook - what the fuck - not a knife, poking out through his ripped shirt. It gleams with blood. His blood.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Turning dizzy from the blood loss - the main cause no doubt his leg wound - his only hope is to pass out once more. But his body won't let him take the plunge - forcing him to stay conscious, to feel every torturous second.
At least most of his lower body has gone numb, that wound a mere dull throbbing in the back of his mind compared to the searing agony of his torn shoulder.



Wait a minute, his feet... they are just dangling in the air. He can't feel anything beneath them. The hook, it - it's holding him up. He's hanging from it like a piece of meat in a slaughterhouse.

That's when the creature steps into view.

Dwight bawls in terror and tries to curl in on himself for protection. The small jerk merely inflicts even more pain.

The monster does nothing. It just stands there. Watching.

There’s no longer any great difference in height between them, they're almost face to face, making Dwight realize how high above ground he's suspended.

He mumbles desperate cries for help - even trying to evoke some kind of deity - if only to let him die and make the torment stop.

Perhaps there is someone listening, because he can feel something grabbing at him. The monster steps back and for a split second Dwight feels relief... until he's assaulted by an agony worse than anything he's ever experienced before.

Dwight dies screaming.

 

 

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~ A Monster With a Name ~

 

He should be used to being hunted and murdered by now, but how do you even get used to something like that? Each time Dwight and the others are forced into fighting for their lives, he's as terrified as when it happened for the first time.
There are more monsters than the big one - some even scarier and more brutal, but the big one was the first he ever faced. It makes that one the worst in his mind.

It’s strange. After the terror that happens each and every night, where they usually end up dead, there are small pockets of peace in-between where he and the others get to sit down, breathe and feel some sense of calm.

But then it starts all over again.

He doesn’t know why they are being put through this. None of them do. One early theory was that they died that first night and this is a continuing nightmare. But when more people got trapped here with them, adding to the victims of this vicious cycle, they realized that something else is going on.

No matter the reason why they’re here, Dwight is convinced that they can find a way to escape. They just have to continue fighting and working together. However, his newfound bravery rarely lasts and he often finds himself hiding when the monsters come for them.

Coward. He harshly condemns himself.

His whole life he has been looked down upon and bullied, which has formed him into someone with a knack for turning himself invisible in order to avoid danger - to survive. Hiding is the only skill he really has, there’s not much else he can do if - when - he's found.

There’s no way to keep track of how many times he’s been murdered. Dwight only knows it's a lot more numerous than the times he has managed to escape a fatal end. Even so, he would guess that it’s been more than a dozen times by now.
How can someone forget how many times they’ve been slaughtered? Wouldn’t that be ingrained in one’s soul after the terror each death comes with? Maybe he’s just so traumatized that his mind tries to bury the memories.

Some memories refuse to be buried though. The conjured image of a grinning mask splattered with blood makes him shiver.

“We should just call the big one the Trapper.” One of the newer ones speaks up, drawing Dwight’s attention from his musings. Nea, he recalls her name.

They're all sitting at the campfire, huddled together. She throws a stick into the fire with slightly more force than necessary and looks up at the others. “With all these fuckers running around, we need to call them something so we know who’s who.” She adjusts her knitted beanie with one hand, displaying more dark short hair half-hidden underneath the fabric.

Meg nods enthusiastically. “You’re right.” She looks over the others for their assent. As if Dwight cares what they call them. They’re still monsters, names or no names.

Dwight has gathered some information about the creatures. Mostly their appearance and somewhat how they operate, at least in broad strokes. The big one lay traps - bear traps to be precise - hence the moniker the Trapper, he guess.
Dwight didn’t know that the first time, didn’t know to look for the hidden devices. Now he does. He doesn’t manage to avoid them often (in actuality, he rarely does) but he expects them. Somehow, it seems like progress.

Dwight mutters. “We should come up with a plan of how to win over them.”

“Run like hell,” Ace grunts. “Hope someone else dies instead of you.”

Meg snarls at him. “That’s your idea of a plan?”

Dwight stands, holding his hands out in a placating manner. “Hey, calm down.” It has an immediate effect on Ace, who merely shakes his head sedately. Meg still looks fired up though, so Dwight continues. “I’ve noticed some things when we’re facing these...”

“Killers.” Nea fills in. It startles him. The word humanizes them in a way that doesn't sit right with him. It makes him think of news stories about convicted murderers who are, although some would argue evil, still very much human. As if she can sense his unease, she shrugs and says simply; “That’s what they are.”

Meg gestures for him to continue. “Go on. I’m tired of them having the upper hand every time. If you know something that can help, tell us.”

“Y-yeah.” He’s not used to having the undivided attention of a group of people who un-ironically wants to hear what he has to say. “Okay, so this is what I’m thinking…”

 

 

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~ The Trapper ~

 

Dwight is sitting at the campfire when Meg comes jogging out of the woods surrounding them. “Where you - ?“

“Yeah. Against the Trapper, no less. Our favourite killer.”

He grimaces. “I hate his traps.”

“Who doesn’t? But I’m not fond of chainsaws or getting electrocuted either,” she retorts and sits down. “He’s in a foul mood tonight.”

Dwight is immediately uncomfortable.

They started referring to the Trapper as a ‘he’ a while back - which was disturbing enough - but now they’re actually ascribing him even more humanizing traits.

Dwight has to concede that he's been gradually worn down by the others' usage of male pronouns to describe the Trapper, to the point where he's guilty of using it himself most of the time. Still, he sees it more in the vein of calling a car or a ship 'she' - there's still nothing human about them. It's a thing. And a thing can't feel happiness or anger.



It doesn’t take long for the others to join them – Nea, Ace and Jake.

“Are you okay?” Jake turns to Meg. “I saw you go down but I couldn’t-“

She dismisses his worry. “It happens. The important part is that the rest of you got out.” Nea and Ace goes to sit down, but Jake stops in his track. “Where is everyone?”

“Taken,” Dwight says grimly. “Shortly after you guys.”

When they were fewer people there were always a group waiting at the campfire for the others to return. It was almost like working in shift - one that tended to end in a horrible murder. But now multiple people are taken at the same time, split up into groups and simultaneously forced to face off with one of the many killers out there.

This time, Dwight was the only one left behind.

It should’ve made him relieved that he didn't have to go out there to be slaughtered, but it only left him worried. What if something happened and the others never came back? What if he was attacked while alone? They know too little about this place to be sure of what’s possible.
But with familiar faces around him, he can breathe easier again.



Talk come easy, as it mostly does when almost the whole group survived whatever tribulation was thrown their way. Dwight must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because he wakes up with a start.



He’s not at the campfire anymore.



He looks around frantically, instantly calming when he spots Meg. “Oh, hey.” She whispers and waves. “I saw Claudette over there,” she points to some bushes by a dismantled car. “I don’t know who the fourth is yet.”

Dwight nods, trying to gather his bearings. “Right. I-I’ll… find a generator to work on.” She gives him a thumb up and soon vanishes.

They figured out sometime ago that repairing generators will open up a gate which they can run through to escape the killers. So he’s attempted to be more proactive these last few times, trying not to hide while leaving the others to do all the work.

He knows that he should move - get out there and do his part. But instead he remains hidden, as if his whole body is frozen stiff. Then he hears a rough scream and recognizes the voice. Bill. He's the fourth one.

Even though he has no idea who they’re up against, the sound of a fallen comrade finally drives him to act. He runs as fast as he can, hoping to be in time to save him.



Dwight is instantly punished for his carelessness. Crashing into the dirt head first, he's caught in a jaw of metal hidden amongst the leaves.



He screams.



It’s stupid. It will draw the killer’s attention - the Trapper’s attention.



Using his good leg, he crawls up to a slightly more sitting position, trying to keep from putting too much strain on his trapped limb.

Hope grows in his chest when Meg comes running - not having managed to get very far. If she can free him before the killer comes, Claudette can mend his wound - the botanist sort of being the group's medic.

Then the red-head keels over like she'd been hit.

Meg is yelling profanities while Dwight shakes from the pain, having difficulty registering what's happened. The Trapper never puts down his devices so close together. Why….?

There’s no time to ponder the change in M.O as the killer walks with determined steps towards them.

Dwight’s heart sinks in his chest. The Trapper left Bill. Does that mean he's dead? Although ravaged by old age and persistent injuries, the former soldier carries years of experience and honed skills from his military days and is the only one truly capable of putting up a decent fight.

Dwight tries to shake off the growing feeling of hopelessness. They can't give up just because Bill is gone! He tries to get the metal device clamped to his leg to open. In his peripheral vision, he sees Meg do the same.

There’s a full moon out so the night is much brighter than normal. A shadow dances over Dwight as the Trapper’s huge body blocks out part of the moon’s reflective light. He momentarily ceases his struggle and looks up, his pale face and wide eyes filled with horror.

He's stunned as the killer walks past him, lumbering over to Meg who swears loudly.

That's when he spots Claudette hiding nearby, probably lured by his screams earlier. She doesn’t have time to free Meg, however, and instead they can't do anything but watch as the Trapper drags the woman off to be murdered.

When they are out of sight, Claudette hurries forward. Her hands shake badly as she helps getting the contraption off.

Dwight grits his teeth at the pain when the metal fangs are finally releasing his flesh. “We have to save her!”

Claudette nods. “I’ll go.”

He bites his lip, guilt gnawing at him. Meg was caught because of him. He should be the one to save her. Claudette puts a hand on his arm. “You’re badly hurt. Hide somewhere, patch up, and I’ll go.”

She's right. Of course she is. He's not of any use in this condition. But it still leaves a bad taste in his mouth to run and hide while she plays the hero.

He hobbles off.

He doesn't get very far though, ending up slumped against a tree. Not a very original hiding place, sure, but it's not like he's spoiled for choice. He’s slowly bleeding out and he needs medical attention. As he tries to stop the bleeding, he hears another scream in the distance. Claudette.

Dwight’s fingers are wet with blood and his pants saturated with it. He feels life slipping away as the small puddle of blood beneath him grows larger and his tired eyes droop, barely able to keep awake.

He’s dying. Even so, he continues to try his best to stem the bleeding. He can't give up. If he does, it means Meg and Claudette sacrificed themselves for nothing.



The sound of footsteps.



Cracking one eye open with some difficulty, he sees the blurry image of a figure looming over him. He’s too far gone to muster up any fear. The man bends down into a crouch. He’s still tall enough to force Dwight to tilt his head to look up on him.

Expecting to be killed right then and there or hauled off to a hook somewhere, he’s surprised when nothing happens.

“W-what…,” Dwight struggles to speak, his lips unwilling to cooperate. “… do you… w-want?”

The man tilts his head slightly, as if curious.



A low voice cuts the air. “Want?”



Dwight hiccups. He… he speaks! The killer, he-!

His life is drained away and he falls into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

When Dwight comes to, he's a bit disoriented. What happened...?



He's close enough to the campfire to hear chatter and see the light cast from the fire against a dark sky. But he doesn’t feel compelled to join the others yet.

There's something about this last death that bugs him. Something just at the edge of his memory.

He vaguely remembers bleeding out. But before that, he has the distinct feeling of something major happening. He wracks his brain and tries to remember his last seconds of life.



Want?



His eyes widen. The Trapper! He was there! He talked, he-

He frowns. That's not possible.

The killers don't speak, that's common knowledge by now. Dwight must've been mistaken. Maybe he was hallucinating because of the blood loss?



But… what if it really happened?



He bites his lip.

The Trapper has already shown some intelligence by changing the pattern of his traps, and it's worrying. If the killers are evolving in some way, Dwight really should make the others aware - it's important.

But a killer speaking is so unlikely that it will probably take some convincing to get them to accept it, and it doesn't feel right trying to do so without being sure.



He nods his head, making up his mind. Next time he faces the Trapper, he has to make sure.

That means he has to get the killer to speak again.



Whatever it takes.

 

 

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Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

One of the First
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg and Claudette.
Killers: the Trapper.

 

A Monster With a Name
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse.

 

The Trapper
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor.

Chapter 2: Talk To Me

Notes:

 
 
First posted on February 14, 2022. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

 

 

~ Talk to Me ~

 

So it’s been a while since Dwight saw the Trapper. Every time he's taken – by whatever forces that keeps looping this nightmare – a small part of him is hoping that the killer will be there. But the large part, the sane part, hopes that there will be no killer at all.

Both hopes have so far been in vain.

Dwight doesn’t really want to meet the killer again (because let's face it, who wants to be chased down and murdered?) but he's frustrated. The guilt of keeping a secret is weighing heavily on him, and he just wants to get it off his chest. Even if that means facing the feared mask again and being cut down by that rusty cleaver.





One day, Dwight had just barely escaped one of the maniacal murderers when he's taken once more. He stumbles to a hiding place to take in the situation.

Has he been dragged back to the same place again to let the killer have another go at him? That's not possible, is it? Although he can't see Bill, Claudette or Jake anymore and his surroundings are slightly different, that doesn't have to mean anything.

Dwight has never been taken again so soon and he's disoriented. What if he never really got out through that gate? What if it was a trick?

That ghost-like creature can appear quickly and silently, and he listens after its tell-tale raspy breathing. They've taken to calling it the Woman in White, seeing as it's wearing a pale dress from some bygone age, and he searches for a flicker of white in the darkness.

Before long, he realizes that he's not going to face the saw-wielding killer again. His arm throbbing with phantom pain is all the proof he needs. Injuries always heal themselves after one's death or escape from a killer and the laceration he suffered that almost split his whole shoulder open, is gone.



He almost chokes on nothing but air when he spots the killer he's about to be pitted against, lumbering in the distance. There he is.
The Trapper is usually much stealthier than this, so it's surprising to spot him walking around almost casually. It's as if Dwight's wish has been fulfilled, although a large part of him had hoped it never would be.

Now is his chance to put his plan into action. The only problem is… he doesn’t really have a plan. Get the Trapper to talk. Sure, it sounds good on paper. But how is he supposed to accomplish that? If he gets too close, the Trapper will kill him. If he continues hiding he might avoid the killer altogether, but it won’t resolve the issue.

He mulls it over.

Not only did the Trapper not kill him last time (at least not personally), but the killer actually overlooked him to go after Meg instead despite Dwight being the closer quarry. And when he was hiding behind that tree, bleeding to death, the Trapper had merely watched without laying a finger on him.
He could've dragged Dwight away to a hook, which seems to be his favourite way of dispatching his victims, but he didn't. Instead he spoke.

What was different last trial? Why was the killer in a merciful mood? And how can Dwight recreate the circumstances to make him speak again? Well, preferably not the dying part.

Dwight thinks back. Maybe the killer hadn't been in a merciful mood. Maybe he just had it out for Meg that time. But at the tree... something made him stop. Dwight asked him a question. That's what made the killer speak in the first place. Could that have been enough?
Dwight tries to recall all the earlier encounters they've had. Has he never said anything to him before? Except of course – please don’t kill me, let me go, etcetera. But that is pleading for his life, not having a conversation.

So... try to have a normal conversation?

Dwight thinks it’s worth a shot. But he wants to make himself useful first and sets himself to the task of finding a generator to repair.
It doesn’t take long for him to see and briefly speak to David, Ace and Nea, feeling confident with the group he’s in.
He doesn’t tell any of them about his plan of trying to communicate with Trapper. They would’ve probably tied him down, believing he'd lost his mind. He wouldn’t blame them. The plan seems insane even to him.



Everything goes smoothly for a while, until all hell breaks loose. People are downed right and left and there’s blood splattered all over the place. Even Dwight manages to get hit a couple of times while helping others. He's busy trying to stay alive and not let his friends die, so he hasn't had the time to try and communicate with the killer chasing them. Dwight scuffs at how crazy that sounds.

In the end, Ace is put on a hook and David sneaks off to free him before it’s too late and Nea runs off to find the last generator they need to escape. Dwight is all alone. This is his chance. For the first time ever, he sets out to find the Trapper. And for some reason it’s actually difficult.

Walking around the buildings and looking into the windows gives no results. With the amount of trouble he has finding the killer he should do this every time instead of hiding, he thinks sarcastically to himself.
But the quip hides his fear. The Trapper still frightens him. Of course he does! And Dwight is almost hoping he won’t find him.

When he’s almost ready to give up the search he spots him. Or, more accurately, the Trapper spots him. Dwight darts into the nearest building through a window, hoping to slow the man down enough to put the plan in motion.
It takes mere seconds until the Trapper rips the door open, chest heaving. That moment, the calm before the storm, is the chance Dwight has been hoping for. He grabs it.

“What do you want from us?” His voice breaks at the end but it makes the Trapper pause.

They stare at each other for an uncomfortably long time. Dwight wants to haul ass out of there, the tension starting to get too much, when he hears that voice again. This time he knows that it’s not a hallucination.

“Want.”

The killer takes a step towards Dwight. And then another. And another. Dwight backs up and squeaks when he bumps into a wall. Normally he'd run and hide as fast as possible, but fear keeps him frozen stiff. He stares with wide eyes as the Trapper comes closer.
He has lowered his weapon, a blood-covered cleaver, and it hangs loosely in one hand at his side. It doesn’t make Dwight feel much better though.

He gulps as the killer is close enough to be able to strike him down if he wants to. When a large dirty hand reaches for him, he flinches and closes his eyes, sure that he will be strangled to death. But instead he feels the rough skin of fingers run along his cheek down to his mouth. One finger traces his lower lip and his eyes fly open in shock.

“Want.” His voice is rough due to underuse, but the timbre seems naturally low and rumbling.

Dwight is struck by the fact that even though the killer has so far only uttered one word, he doesn't seem to be a simple-minded creature. Instead, he has shown signs of intelligence more than once; the way he's adapting while hunting them a proof of that.

“Hey! Fucker!”

Both Dwight and the Trapper freezes. Nea is standing in the door in a wide and aggressive stance. The killer lets out a quiet growl, clearly agitated by the interruption. Dwight is sure that the Trapper will cut him down before going after Nea, but instead he ignores his already captured prey and turns around. Dwight doesn’t dare to move a muscle, afraid to draw attention back to himself again.

Nea’s taunting draws the Trapper out of the building and Dwight almost collapses. He takes a second to get himself back together and then hurries out of there. He can see David and Ace running towards the large gate, which has open. Nea is looping the Trapper, heading towards the gate herself. Dwight gets a move on, knowing that this is his only chance to get out of there alive.

Shockingly enough, all four manage to get out and back to the campfire.

“You all made it!” Meg jumps up excitedly when she sees them. Nea grins. “Fuck yeah.” Even Ace seems in unusual high spirits, laughing with David as they sit down.

“It was the Trapper,” Nea says before Meg can even ask. “Dwight distracted him so we could finish the generators.” She points at him and he flinches. He didn’t think about it before, but did Nea see what the Trapper did to him? How he touched - Dwight swallows and looks away, sure that he's blushing. He doesn’t really know why, but he feels dirty.

Whether Nea saw it or not, she doesn’t mention it and Meg just smiles brightly towards him. “Great! We’re actually beating these bastards at their own game!”



The atmosphere is great at the campfire even as the others join later on. But Dwight is uncomfortable. He hasn’t had the opportunity to tell the others about his discovery about the Trapper yet. He hides behind not wanting to ruin the good mood, but the matter of fact is that he's worried that they'll start asking a lot of questions. Dwight is a bad liar and if they dig too deep, they might find out what happened between him and the Trapper.

Dwight frowns. Nothing really happened, did it? And if it did, it isn’t his fault. No one can blame Dwight for being scared stiff while being touc- besides! Every person here has been in contact with the killers in some way, whether it's being dragged, carried or struck down. It's not like any of them have any choice in the matter.

But... this wasn't like that. The brush over his face had almost been gentle - more a caress than anything threatening. Although he tries to reassure himself that nothing out of the ordinary happened between them (except the talking) and he has nothing to be ashamed of, he can't shake the feeling of having done something wrong. Why did the Trapper touch him like that? Did Dwight somehow encourage it by speaking to him?

Dwight looks over the others, smiling and joking with each other. He would like to talk to someone about it, get someone else's opinion of what's going on. But he doesn't know who. He's not really close to any of the survivors, or at least not that close.

He's starting to regret ever hearing the Trapper speak.

 

 

***************************

 

 

~A Man With a Name ~

 

More people have joined the campfire, which is both heart-breaking and somewhat a relief. More people mean longer breaks between what they’ve started to refer to as ‘trials’ with the killers. It means more rest and opportunity to simply sit and talk.
It also boosts their strength as new people come in with new skills and ideas, though even the new ones kind of defer to Dwight’s plans most of the time. He’s been there the longest and has extensive knowledge about the killers. Some has even jokingly started to refer to him as ‘the leader’. It makes him a bit proud, but also terrified.

Unfortunately, Dwight is forced to watch these new, unfamiliar faces being tortured and die in gruesome ways. Even though it’s not easy to watch the more seasoned ones die either, it’s even worse when it’s the newer ones who hasn’t had the time to get used to it.

Get used to dying.

Dwight scoffs at himself. What a horrible place they’re in where that’s a phrase. He sighs. He’s gotten a lot of time to wind down lately as the new ones are most often thrown into trials right now. He's happy for the respite but he hates having to sit and wait, not knowing when the peace will be broken.

The only upside so far is that he's actually only had a couple of trials with the Trapper since that time, and in those, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Except the killer seemingly going out of his way to hunt the others rather than Dwight, but maybe he reads too much into it.

The new ones aren't as lucky though, and have faced the grinning mask many times by now. Dwight doesn't envy them, knowing full-well how painful those traps are.

“Are you okay?”

Dwight startles out of his thoughts as Meg sits down beside him. “Y-yeah…”

“You seem a bit distracted.” She searches his face for clues.

“I-I’m just thinking about the killers.”

She gives him a loop-sided smile. “Always thinking strategy, huh?”

“Mmm.”

“They’re not back yet.” Meg's gaze drags over the trees encompassing them before landing on Dwight once more. “Too many new ones in one trial."

When Dwight looks at her questioningly, she shrugs. "They're probably hiding," she explains. "But it won’t do them any good in the end.”

It’s as if the words are aimed at Dwight, and he looks away guiltily. Is it obvious that he's hiding something?

He never meant to keep the encounter with the Trapper a secret and now it's too late to tell them. If he reveals it now, so long after it happened, they'll be mad. They might stop trusting him. And those who have come to see him as sort of a leader will doubtless turn their backs to him.

“Uh… Y-yeah. You’re probably right.” He stammers. He avoids looking at her even though she's now focused on a spot in the distance, probably scouting after anyone returning from a trial.

At that moment, Dwight can feel something pull at his body. He’s about to get taken. He looks at Meg. “Are you-?” She turns to him and only manages to shake her head before he’s gone.

 

 

Dwight wants this over with quickly, so he starts looking for a generator immediately. When he finds one he starts working as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. He tenses at a sound but relaxes when David joins him.

“Hey,” Dwight whispers. David grunts and bends down beside him to help speed up the repair. “Have you seen the others?”

David gives a short nod. “Seen ‘em. Nea ‘n Jane.”

Oh. Nea’s very good but so far Dwight hasn’t had a good impression of Jane. But maybe that will change. “Keep’n eye out for traps, eh?” David says as he finishes the generator and rises.

“Traps?” Dwight chokes. “Y-yeah.”

David gives him an encouraging pat on the back and leaves Dwight feeling stunned. The Trapper, huh? He worries at his lip. He doesn't know what to expect from the killer anymore and it makes him nervous. It's almost like they have this tentative truce and he doesn't want to ruin it because it's much better than getting killed, but at the same time he doesn't want to encourage it either.

A scream reminds him of the fact that the Trapper does not have a truce with anyone else and he should help out. He starts running.

Jane is desperately tugging at the bear trap clamped on her leg. She is panicking with the Trapper standing over her fallen form. At the same time as the killer removes the device, thus freeing her leg, Dwight rushes forward. There's no time to be afraid or think of the consequences.
His action is spurred by only one thought - save her. He smashes into the killer's broad chest.

If anyone asks if he was trying to tackle the giant made out of fucking rock to the ground - then yes, that's exactly what he was aiming for. Shockingly, it didn't work. The man is obviously pure muscle and didn't move an inch, but Dwight did manage to get him winded enough to drop his victim. Jane screams even louder as she crashes down on her wounded leg.

Dwight almost falls on his ass from the force of the impact. He expects the Trapper to strike him with the cleaver but the killer seems stunned by his stunt. The large man tilts his head slightly and Dwight can feel eyes burrowing into his own.

During all this commotion Jane started crawling away, teeth gritted to keep from making too much noise, but the movement now catches the Trapper’s attention. As he raises his weapon to stop her escape, Dwight yells “No!”

He must’ve surprised the killer for a second time, because he only stares at him.

At the same time, David and Nea comes out of nowhere in a coordinated rescue attempt; David using his strength to pull Jane to her feet and half-drag, half-carry her to safety while Nea is goading the Trapper to keep him distracted. But the Trapper doesn’t care about her and this time her taunting does nothing to move him. Instead his gaze turns to David and Jane and he takes a step towards them.

“Nea! Go, I’ll handle this!” Dwight’s mouth yells without asking his brain first.

Nea doesn’t run as fast as Meg and isn’t really keen on having a killer on her tail, so she gives him a curt nod and runs off. The Trapper doesn’t even look in her direction but he does turn his head to give Dwight a look. Nevertheless, it doesn't stop him from taking long strides after his wounded victim.

“Hey! Hey!” Dwight yells at him at a safe distance. The man doesn’t react. He’s like a hound on the scent - focused only on the hunt. “Trapper!” Dwight presses out. The man stills. “Y-yeah, you!”

A lump of fear grows in Dwight’s stomach as the seconds seem to drag on and on. Then the man turns towards him instead. Dwight just stands there staring with wide terrified eyes until the Trapper picks up the pace – his new target clear.

Dwight breaks out into a run in the opposite direction. There are no good places to hide but he makes a decent job of trying to shake his pursuer. If he can keep the man distracted long enough then Jane can heal up and they can finish the generators in peace.
Seeing the tall grass surrounding the area, Dwight gets the brilliant idea to aim for it in the hopes of the Trapper losing sight of him.

That is a big mistake.

The grass is booby trapped. Miraculously Dwight manages to stop just in time, nearly toppling over due to his speed and falling face-first into a bear trap. He gulps.

The precious seconds he spends regaining his balance and calming his poor over-worked heart, allows the killer to catch up with him.
Dwight whips around to face him. He can't escape. If he goes backwards he'll step into the trap and if he goes forward he'll be walking into the killer’s chest. And the man is so huge and with such a range with his weapon, that trying to go right or left isn’t an option.

Dwight resigns himself to the fact that he’s probably getting horribly stabbed for daring to yell at the man before. He’s probably not even going to waste time dragging him to a hook. At least the others will probably make it out okay.

But the stab doesn’t come.

The Trapper is breathing a bit heavier than usual - which might be expected since he normally doesn’t run after his victims. It's another change in M.O. and Dwight adds it to his mental file on the large man.



Wait a moment! When did he start thinking of the Trapper as being a man instead of a monster?

“Evan.”

Dwight blinks once. Twice. “W-what?”

The Trapper steps even closer, eliminating all space between them. Dwight can feel the warmth of the man ghosting against his smaller frame. He tilts his head back, again noting how huge the man is. “Evan.” His chest rumbles slightly as he repeats the name. His name.

Dwight’s mouth opens in shock as he stares at the man, almost able to glimpse his eyes staring out of the mask. “That’s your name?” The man tilts his head but doesn’t confirm or deny it.

Has Dwight entered into an even weirder dimension than he occupied previously? Why would a killer give out his name? His mind is working overtime, trying to make sense of it.

He called him ‘Trapper’ earlier. It's a name the survivors have given the killer so he's probably never heard it before. Is that what triggered this response? The Trapper doesn't seem mad, so did the killer really just chase him down just to tell him his name? That's so unlikely; Dwight disregards it as a possibility immediately.

The man seems to be waiting on something and there's this tense silence. Knowing that he’s perched on a knife’s edge right now and desperate to survive long enough for an opportunity of escape to present itself, Dwight plays along, hoping to keep him calm. “I-It’s a nice name. Evan.”

The man’s chest rumbles again in a low, pleased hum. Dwight wants to take a step back to create some space but there’s still the active trap behind him. “I’m Dwight.” He wants to slap himself immediately after saying it. Don’t tell the killers about yourself!

The Trap- Evan raises a hand to Dwight’s face, letting a finger run down his cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. Dwight shudders and closes his eyes in horror. He doesn't want to know whose blood that is.
The touch vanishes immediately and Dwight carefully opens his eyes, sure that the cleaver will be raised above the killer’s head, about to strike him down. But instead the man only stands there, silent and unmoving.

At the sound of the gate opening, Dwight flinches, sure that it will spur the man into action. But the man takes a step back and lumbers off into the high grass, leaving Dwight trembling. Before the killer can change his mind, Dwight forces his legs to work again and runs off to the gate.

 

 

 

 

Dwight doesn’t understand what’s going on between him and the Trapper. The sort of communicating, sparing Dwight's life on more than one occasion and the touching - what’s the point of it?

The touches are what affects him the most. They’re almost tender, as if the killer likes him.
Is that possible? The killer - Evan - liking him? Or is it some kind of game, a way to mess with his mind? Dwight doesn't know.

He hasn’t heard any of the others mentioning similar experiences with either the Trapper or any of the other killers. Why is it only happening to Dwight? What makes him so unique? And what is he supposed to do?

As he hears the others talk about how to avoid the bear traps, and how the Trapper has gotten better at concealment, Dwight realizes something. He managed to get the man to leave Jane alone and instead go after him, leading to her life being spared. And while the killer was chasing him, the others finished the generators, allowing for their escape. What if Dwight could manage the same feat in the next trial? In that case, no one would need to die. And even if the man turns on Dwight and kills him, there’s still a chance the others will make it.

It might not be a bad plan. Although there's no guarantee it will work, seeing as he doesn't know what makes the killer tick, it's worth a shot.

 

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

 

Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

Talk to Me
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor.

 

A Man With a Name
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff and Jane.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare.

Chapter 3: Car Shenanigans

Notes:

 
 
First posted on April 17, 2022. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

 

 

~ Car Shenanigans ~

 

It’s hard to tell time here. Dwight has no idea how many weeks or even months has passed since his first trial. He's even lost track of how many trials it's been. Fifty? Seventy? Not that it matters. It's a monotonous existence only broken by spikes of fear in trials before returning to boredom outside of them. The only thing that interrupts this pattern is Dwight's interactions with the Trapper.

Dwight has so far failed to put his plan in motion, not really confident enough to see it through. He hasn't discarded it - no, if he can help the others by committing to it, he will. It's just... if Meg can run the killer in circles or David can throw pallets at him or someone else distracts him first, why should Dwight execute his plan when he isn’t even sure it’ll work?

If he's honest with himself, a part of him is afraid that this plan of his might change things. So far the Trapper has continued to go easy on Dwight, allowing him to escape unharmed in the killer's trials. He doesn’t extend the same courtesy to the others, killing them with the same brutal efficiency as usual, but Dwight selfishly doesn't mind being spared.

Other than this show of mercy in trials, the relationship (if you can even call it that) between them have gone back to how it was from the start, more or less. No more talking. No more touching. He isn't sure what's changed. Maybe the Trapper decided he doesn’t like him after all? Maybe Dwight misunderstood his actions from the start?

He shakes his head. He doesn't care if the Trapper - a killer, mind you - likes him or not! It only matters if Dwight can use a perceived favouritism to keep his friends from harm.

Even so, he can't help but wonder. Dwight tells himself that he only thinks about him when analyzing the killer's behaviour and weaknesses. It's kind of his thing, after all. It's expected of him. Analyzing and putting together a plan of survival.
But his treacherous mind can't help but wander into more dangerous territory; a rough palm touching his cheek, skin against skin. Warm. Unexpected. And it's been... so long.

Most physical contact he's experienced since being trapped here is either of the painful kind by the hands of the killers or impersonal contact from the other survivors - often under dire circumstances where there is no other option. People seek out Dwight for advice or leadership, but they rarely, if ever, seek him out for his mere company.

He gets it. He's not that close to any of them. Though he will admit, he gets lonely.

The situation is not the same for everyone, of course. Some survivors are rather close - touchy, even. As he's thinking this, he spots Ace flirting with an unimpressed Jane close by. Those two have become a common sight. Being murdered daily obviously hasn't killed (no pun intended) everyone's libido and Ace is working hard on getting the beautiful brunette to fall for him. Or at least getting her on her back. She gives him enough encouragement to feed her ego and string him along, but Dwight doubts that Ace will ever win her over.

Dwight is a bit jealous. Not that he wants Jane for himself, God no! Even if he were attracted to women, she's not his type. No, Dwight is jealous because he also wants ... someone. In truth, it's not a new problem. He's been lonely for years. He hasn't had a romantic partner since his almost-boyfriend in high school. They saw each other in secret for about a month before the guy cracked and broke it off, too scared that anyone would find out.

Dwight wants a boyfriend, a real relationship, but any guy he's ever been with since high school cannot be labelled as anything other than a fuck-buddy. He sometimes wishes that he had tried harder, put himself out more when he had the chance, but he didn't. And now he's stuck in this hell and it's too late.

So yeah, he won't find a boyfriend here. But if he could just have someone to talk to, like really talk to, it would've probably lifted the burden of loneliness.

Dwight looks around the campsite and see Claudette having a lively discussion with Adam about something science-y or whatever and Ash and Bill comparing notes on weapons. Something like that, maybe. Or like Jake and Meg running into the woods to scavenge for valuable items.

Dwight is surrounded by people but he still feels so alone.

 

 

***************************

 

 

 

Dwight didn’t expect things to progress this quickly.

The trial had gone downhill the moment it began, and Dwight doesn't know how to turn it around. Quentin is on a hook, screaming for his life; Laurie is stuck in a trap and Adam lying dead in a pool of blood, and there’s not even one generator repaired yet.
Dwight has to choose between saving Quentin or Laurie. He grits his teeth and mentally asks the teenager for forgiveness as he runs to Laurie.

Quentin’s screams abruptly dies at the same time as Laurie drags her bloody leg out of the trap with Dwight's help. When Dwight sees a large figure approaching he knows they're in trouble. “Run!” He hisses at Laurie. “I’ll distract him.”

Dwight makes sure the Trapper focuses on him before starting to run in the opposite direction from the wounded woman. With only two people left alive, they'll never be able to repair the generators needed to open the gates. However, they might not have to.
After many trials the survivors noticed a pattern. When there's only one of them left alive, there’s a possibility of finding an alternative way of escape - a hatch that leads to freedom. But that means one of them will have to die for the other one to survive. As the leader, Dwight willingly takes on that role. He aims to put as much space between Laurie and the killer as possible to make sure she stands a chance.

The Trapper is breathing down his neck and Dwight is sure he'll soon be in range of the man's cleaver, so when he spots a car wreck he makes the stupid decision to throw himself inside in the hopes that the large man can’t follow.

The car is mostly a skeleton; lacking windows, a steering wheel and even a couple of doors, though the car seats are more or less intact - dressed in worn, miscoloured leather. Dwight bumps his head on the ceiling as he crawls over the front seat into the back of the car. He's about to get out on the opposite side of the wreck from his pursuer, when a large hand latches onto his foot. He starts kicking wildly in an attempt to get free, but the firm grip doesn't let up.

Dwight is desperately reaching for anything to hold onto to get leverage and pull himself loose, but he doesn't stand a chance as he's being steadily dragged back, closer to him. Dwight's heart is beating like crazy.

Expecting to be slashed by the cleaver, he yelps with surprise when he is instead turned over to lie on his back across the front seats. Face to face, or more accurately face to mask, he sees that the man is not holding his cleaver at all. Dwight’s eyes widen in shock. What the…?

The Trapper takes up all of the limited space in the car. He's so large that he’s hitting the roof at the same time as he’s pressing down on Dwight’s body. Even through the cold uncomfortable surface of the rubber overalls Dwight can feel how warm the man is, almost like a furnace. There's no ignoring the hardened muscles underneath the clothing either. The younger man blushes. When he struggled to free himself earlier as he was being dragged backwards, his shirt rode up over his waist and chest and lodged itself almost beneath his chin. He now realizes that his skin is exposed both to the Trapper's gaze and touch.

His breath hitches when the Trapper adjusts his position, causing his body to briefly press down even more. The sensations are almost too much. Dwight is unused to this kind of intimacy and unprepared.

Then the man's gaze catches his eyes and he can't look away. Normal eyes. Human. Dwight is breathing harder. Although he was willing to sacrifice himself, a part of him still hopes the man hasn't ended their tentative truce. Under these circumstances, there's nothing he can do if that's the case. He can strangle him or cut him down easily and Dwight can't even try to fend him off. He breaks eye contact, worrying his lip unconsciously.

A movement catches Dwight's eye. The man is carelessly wiping his hand on the car seat, leaving red streaks behind over the faded leather. Blood. Right. Two are dead and Laurie is somewhere out there, waiting for Dwight to die as well. He steels himself, ready to take that final step. But then a hand unexpectedly runs along his cheek. Dwight closes his eyes and his body slowly relaxes, trained to know by now that the man won't hurt him when he's in this mood.

He shouldn't let this happen. Shouldn't let a killer touch him like this. He opens his eyes again, meeting those brown orbs. But this isn't the Trapper. It's Evan. They're like two separate entities.

A generator starts up in the distance and Dwight realizes that there might be a chance for both him and Laurie to survive this, if he plays his cards right. For the first time ever, Dwight responds to the man's touch by leaning into it.
Above him the man stills. His eyes burrow into Dwight's, who is horrified. Did he misinterpret what was going on? Stupid, stupid!

Dwight starts squirming and trying to get out from underneath him. A massive hand settles on his chest to keep him still, the touch firm but gentle and without constricting his breathing. If he was breathing - which he isn't - because he has died of embarrassment and is now willing his corpse to sink into the car seats and disappear forever.

Evan's gaze wanders from Dwight's burning cheeks gradually down to where his hand is positioned. He drags his hand down towards Dwight’s stomach, gauging his reaction. Dwight gasps and involuntarily arches his lower body, pressing against the warm hand.
Humiliated by his body's betrayal Dwight hides his face, hoping to escape any judging stares. Evan doesn’t seem to mind him hiding and instead goes on to explore the exposed skin with his calloused hand.

Dwight trembles. His lower body is having a reaction. One he doesn't want the man to notice. “E-Evan…” he stammers, hoping to get the man to slow down. It has the opposite effect. Instead the older man turns more eager and brave as he continues to caress Dwight's stomach and chest while his other hand is placed dangerously closed to ... a problematic area in his jeans.

Dwight should stop him. He should try to flee. But he can’t. He’s stuck. And even if he tries to hit the man, it won’t do anything. The man has him trapped and he’s too big, pressing against him, so warm… fuck! Dwight spasms as the big hand cups his dick outside his pants.
The touch is rough and hard as if the man isn’t very practiced but Dwight bucks uncontrollably into his hand, seeking more friction. He throws an arm over his face to hide. "Hah, ah, ah..." He bites his lip, trying to keep the sounds in.

There’s nothing he can do when Evan continues to stroke him crudely without letting up. “Fuck…” Dwight whines. He’s doing this for… Oh God, yes, yes.... for Laurie. Yes, yes, yes. He’s getting so worked up that he knows he’s going to come if Evan doesn't stop.

Dwight bucks with his hips, craving more, when suddenly the pleasure against his clothed dick is gone. He swallows a disappointed whine. His dick is pulsating and pressing uncomfortably against the fabric.

Then suddenly Evan presses down even harder on him, but not with his hand. Dwight’s arm lifts from his face so he can watch as the man presses his lower body against Dwight’s. And fuck, he’s not the only one who's erect. He whimpers at a delicious stroke along his dick from Evan’s crotch.

If he’s going to distract Evan he really should do a better job, shouldn’t he? He presses against the man, rubbing against his dirty overalls as if his life depends on it. And maybe it does. But he doesn’t care right now. Death and torture is common in this place, sexual release isn’t. At least not for Dwight. So he’s throwing all caution aside.

“Hah! Ah!” He moans quietly, still trying to keep the sounds in as much as possible.

The man thrusts against him, as if fucking him over the layers of clothes. Dwight spreads his legs eagerly, but only because the heavy weight on them is getting uncomfortable! One leg can’t go very far because of the tiny space, but Evan lifts the leg and holds it up into the air with one hand - the stretch almost too much. Although he's wearing pants, he feels exposed. Naked.

Dwight bites his lip as the thrusts are winding him up more and more. He moans as Evan continues to drive their erections against each other, the furious rub bringing them both closer to the edge. The older man grinds down repeatedly on the trembling form pinned beneath him.
He grunts and his breathing turns rougher. The man's breath is bad as it washes over Dwight, but he simply turns his head to the side, unwilling to let anything ruin this.

As Dwight reaches his high, he doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t pretend it’s someone else. “F-fuck! E-Evan!” He bites down on a moan as he comes.

Evan grunts again and rams against him a few more times, uncaring about the other man's whimpers. Finally, his body locks up and he stills, the huge arms holding up his upper body growing taut. Dwight watches with glazed over eyes, still stuck in the fog of pleasure.

Too soon the man draws back to create some space between them. The mask tilts down slightly, as if curious. Dwight looks down at his body as well. A wet patch has spread on his crotch, cum drying in his jeans. He blushes as the moment drags on and he's searching for something to say. No explanation in the world will save him from the fact that a killer just made him come by dry humping him.

One of Evan’s large fingers brushes the spot and Dwight flinches. Although he is sensitive right now, the touch is fortunately gentle. As the fingers lightly caress him, the wet spot expands. Dwight flushes. Even though he knows the man has dried semen on him as well it doesn’t show on his overalls, allowing him to keep his dignity while Dwight's shame is visible for anyone to see.

Evan fondles him softly and Dwight gasps but lets him do what he wants without putting up a fight. When the man raises his moist fingers to the mouth of the mask Dwight hides beneath his arm again, but he can't hide from the quiet sucking sounds. His body heats up again.

Then the warm pressure on him is gone. Evan has turned into the Trapper once more and is backing out of the car. Dwight is aware that he might be killed but he is still caught in the afterglow, and so he just watches as the man lifts up his cleaver and rises to his full height.

The sound of gates opening makes Dwight aware of just how long they’ve been going at. Laurie's managed to not only heal herself but also repair all the generators. He blushes, hoping she hasn't heard or seen anything.

The Trapper steps back, allowing him to exit the car. He is weary as he passes by the large man, but there's no aggression and no hint of an attack coming. He gives the Trapper a long look, still searching for something to say but coming up short. What do you even say after something like that? 'Thank you'?

Instead he gives a short nod, hoping it will convey what he can't put in words, and he sets off towards the gate. At the exit he briefly regrets not saying anything, not knowing when he'll see Evan again, but when he turns around the man is nowhere to be seen. Disappointed but not really surprised, he sighs as he walks into the fog. Hopefully, he won't have to wait too long to see him again.

 

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

 

Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

Car Shenanigans
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion.

Chapter 4: When Dreams Come True

Notes:

 
 
First posted on May 7, 2022. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

~ The Man of My Dreams ~

 

Dwight is sick. Like seriously messed up.

He usually sleeps beneath a tree; the trunk acting like a cover against the brightness of the campsite's fire, but still being close enough to safety where he can hear the others' chatter. That closeness is both a blessing and a curse.

Dwight waits with baited breath, hoping that he didn't make a noise loud enough to draw anyone near. He tries to pull down his shirt to cover the front of his pants. Fortunately, no one is on their way over to Dwight's spot. If he did make any sounds, obviously no one's heard him.

He's a bit wobbly from sleep when he gets on his feet and he soon realizes why no one heard him; Ash stands in the middle of the camp, loudly telling one of his fanciful stories with that engaging way of his, keeping his audience enraptured. Any other time Dwight would've probably joined the group around him and gotten lost in the entertaining show Ash puts on, but he has an issue to take care of first.

He leaves without anyone taking notice. He would've liked to credit it to his awesome skill of melting into the shadows, but that's unlikely seeing as he's currently walking like an old grandpa as the sticky liquid is drying in his underwear. Gross.
Thankfully, he knows there's a stream close by and it doesn't take long for the evidence to be washed away. But it doesn't really matter that his secret is safe. He sits down on the ground, head in his hands. How did he get into this mess?

For the first time in years, Dwight has had a wet dream. What is he - a teenager?

But that's not the worst part. He's fantasizing about a man who is murdering his friends on the daily. Not really a turn on. Why can't he be sexually attracted to normal guys? If he can't picture a man on his own, there are men at the campfire like David to ogle if he wants to!
Although, he'll admit, that would be weird. He doesn't see any of the guys in that way. Maybe that's the problem - his mind is so desperate that it clings to the first man to show him any interest!

Dwight's feeling guilty. As if he has any say over what, or rather who, he dreams about. And it's not like he's conjuring up sexy images of a horrifying mask and bloody overalls, because seriously, that would be creepy as hell.

What he remembers of the dream is a body covering him - pressing up against him. Just thinking about it is enough to make the lower half of his body stir. Sigh. Why couldn't his libido have stayed gone? What is Dwight supposed to do when he sees him again? Pretend like nothing happened? Do it all over again?

He's probably being foolish. He can't imagine him being plagued by thoughts like this. Maybe he doesn't even care. Dwight could've just been a warm body up for grabs, nothing special.

He bites his lip. No, he doesn't really believe that. If Evan had been okay with anyone, why would he single out Dwight in so many trials?
Why didn't he go after anyone else? He's sure one or two of them would've taken the opportunity to survive once or twice in exchange for.... what? Sex? Is that what they're doing?

Gaah! He doesn't know anymore! This is confusing. The man is a killer and Dwight shouldn't get close to him sexually, emotionally or any other way. Those are the rules! .... Probably. No one has ever mentioned having any kind of relationship - friendship or otherwise - with the killers even in jest, so Dwight doesn't really know the opinion of the others. But it's probably safe to say that they won't approve of what Dwight and Evan is doing together. Well, some might approve if it will let them escape from the killer's trials unharmed, but he knows they will still look at him differently. Dwight doesn't want that to happen but at the same time, he can't make himself regret what he's done.

Dwight is sick. Seriously messed up.

 

 

***************************

 

 

~When Dreams Come True~

 

Detecting a familiar trap his breathing comes faster. Excited and nauseous at the same time, Dwight leaves the generators for the others to handle and focus on trying to intercept the man at an early stage. Maybe he wasn't the only one with the same idea, because suddenly a hand crashes down on his shoulder. Dwight jumps and screams loudly, more shocked than fearful.

As he is turned around to face the hand's owner he cranes his neck, not at all surprised to look up at a grinning mask. Dwight knows he can't escape, the grip is too tight, but he doesn't even try to get away. What's wrong with him?

The man is still holding a cleaver in his other hand and the weapon has not been lowered to a point where it's non-threatening, so Dwight eyes it warily. He doesn't know the killer, doesn't know what makes him tick, so he can't really claim to be certain that he will be spared. Fear is dripping into his mind like poison as seconds pass by, making Dwight doubt his decision to seek the killer out.

“E-Ev-“ Dwight doesn’t manage to get the man's full name out before he's grabbed and hoisted up on a broad shoulder. Stunned by the realization that he's about the be hooked, Dwight is frozen stiff as he stares at the ground moving beneath them as his arms sway across the man's wide back.

Wait a minute! He jerks, beginning to struggle to get down. A massive hand grips the back of his thigh and squeezes as a warning. Dwight's breathing stops momentarily. The man's touch is scorching and the warmth seeps through Dwight's pants and suddenly all fear is gone. Instead he is starting to remember last time and desperately want the hand to creep higher.

When Evan makes no move to indulge in the closeness between them, Dwight gathers up enough courage to act. Tentatively, he brushes his fingers against the naked skin of the man's back. Obviously shocked, the killer almost stumbles and Dwight withdraws, waiting for retribution. When nothing happens and the man just continues to walk, Dwight sees it as a sign that he's dealing with Evan and not the Trapper and he becomes braver. Dwight lets a hand sneak inside the man's overall, down the back, reaching as far as he can.

Maybe he should worry about someone seeing them, but there's no moon out and he’s feeling gutsy in the cover of darkness.

Except some roughness that Dwight expects are scarring, the man's body feels normal and human beneath Dwight's exploring fingers.
Evan runs hot and Dwight wants to curl up against him like a cat, chasing his warmth. Maybe he even purred at the thought, because suddenly the grip on his thigh turns more forceful, although not enough to hurt.

When the man stops and retrieves Dwight from his shoulder, worry that he’s about to be impaled by a hook is awakened again. Instead he's somewhat gently placed on a pallet, hidden from any voyeuristic eyes. Curious to see where this is going Dwight stays seated without a word. Although eager for the attention, his cheeks burn at how intense Evan is watching him. Dwight turns his head to the side, trying to escape the effect the man is having on him, but the older man simply steers him back to meet his gaze.

"Want."

At that word, Dwight shivers. He knows what the man wants. Or at least, he suspects that he knows. And Dwight wants it too. Desperately.
Evan doesn't do anything other than look at him, but Dwight's body is already getting slightly aroused.

"Want." He repeats.

Not wanting to talk too loudly and somehow ruin the bubble they've found themselves in, Dwight whispers; "Yes". It's clearly seen as permission as the man moves closer and Dwight spreads his legs to accommodate him.

A generator starts in the distance but Evan merely grunts in response, not moving from his position. When they’re close enough that the older man’s leg touches his groin, Dwight inhales and can’t stop himself from thrusting up against it. Evan stills to watch, and Dwight cheeks heats up. Is he being too eager? Before Dwight can feel too much self-doubt, the killer's leg presses down harder. Oh! Yes! Dwight grinds against the pressure, a moan spilling out. His dick is hardening and he knows the other man can feel it.

Dwight is getting more desperate and wishes that he could feel the man’s hand against his naked skin, but he doesn’t dare ask for it. Instead he grinds and humps the man’s thick thigh, panting quietly. The crotch in his jeans are getting too tight and uncomfortable as he's getting more aroused and he throws caution aside and pulls down his zipper to get some relief.

Evan probably sees it as an invitation because he’s suddenly a lot more bold; one hand holding down Dwight's leg and the other dragging down his pants to expose his underwear completely. He touches the outline of Dwight's dick, hand burning like a fire iron.

"Ah, ah... hah!" Dwight thrusts against him.

Evan becomes bolder, his caress firmer and direct as he drags his hand along the shape of Dwight's member, and as the younger man continues to buck recklessly into his touch, the man growls in approval.

“Yes!” Dwight pants. He needs more, needs skin to skin, but is kept more or less immobile by the large hand on his thigh. Fuck, he's so close to release, he can taste it. Dwight uses the killer's hand to chase his own end, unable to think through the desperation and fog of lust.

It doesn’t take long. He comes into his own underwear – again- and bites his lips as he tries to keep in his noises of pleasure.

Dwight gasps. “Hah, ah!” He slumps down on the pallet against a wall he hadn’t even noticed was behind him, trying to catch his breath.
When he calms down a bit, he sees Evan staring at him intently through the mask and he’s embarrassed and feels bad. The man didn’t get anything out of this, unlike last time.

“I-if you want… I could…” Dwight blushes fiercely and gestures towards the man’s obvious bulge. The man doesn’t answer, which isn't much of a surprise, but at the somewhat verbal consent he drags down the younger man's soiled underwear in one movement, exposing his softening member to the cold air. Dwight gulps and averts his eyes in embarrassment. God, he looks pathetic with cum in his underwear. Maybe the killer only did this to humiliate him?

But a large hand glides across his naked exposed skin, gathering up the semen. Dwight stares in confusion. Is he cleaning him up?
Then the other hand unbuckles the claps holding up the overall and it falls down to below his navel. Dwight stares with open mouth, having never seen so much skin on the man before. He’s strong. Although he doesn’t look ripped like someone who goes to the gym, you can still spot the strong muscle underneath the skin of a man used to physical work. Dwight can’t help but stare and maybe salivate a little.

The hand covered in cum glides down inside the man’s overalls, now hanging below his stomach and – oh, oh! There’s no mistaking the movement of the hand as Dwight is watching the man jerk himself off with the help of his semen. He closes his eyes briefly, mind almost frying at the image, but then he opens them again - desperate to watch him. Fuck, this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Evan masturbating in front of him is making his body stir again. The man lets one hand rest on the pallet, slightly leaning in over Dwight and forcing him to press against the wall behind him. His eyes are glued to the rapid motions hidden beneath the overall and he doesn’t even care that his own dick is still exposed. Fuck. He can’t help it. He needs to touch him. His hand shots out and grabs the taut arm beside him.

Evan stops but Dwight's brain doesn’t register the questioning glance he gets. He stares spellbound at the now unmoving hand, eager to watch the show. He is breathing heavier. Even though he's still soft and probably won't be able to get an erection for a while, he still feels a pang of arousal.

Evan slowly starts up again and Dwight licks his lips. The hand moves faster and faster in an even more brutal rate and Dwight unconsciously starts caressing the arm beneath his palm; thumb moving in circles as if he was touching the head of- fuck.

The older man is rubbing faster and the wet noise of him touching himself is loud in the silence. He groans and his whole body locks up, and Dwight knows. The muscle beneath the arm is so tense and he's so strong and big and it’s so fucking hot. Embarrassingly enough, Dwight is no longer completely soft. When the killer comes to, he’s going to notice. Dwight tries using his free hand to draw up his underwear subtly, but nothing escapes the man’s gaze.

When he sees that Dwight was affected by the display he reaches out his hand, covered in his own cum this time, and engulfs Dwight's dick. He gasps at the direct touch. The touch is warm and wet and it feels so heavenly. He craves this. Evan starts stroking the somewhat soft dick slowly first, reading his reactions.

Sure, it’s a bit sensitive, but it feels so good that he doesn’t care. He arches into the touch. “Evan…” he whines quietly. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. The man starts upping the speed, hardening his grip, making Dwight whimper as the sensations overwhelm him. He bucks into the hand, unable to think of anything but chasing that pleasure again.

“Yes.”

Dwight barely registers that the killer has spoken a different word than usual, he's so gone in the pleasure mixed with pain from being oversensitive. “Y-yes!” He pants, encouraging the man to go on. “M-more! Evan!”

Saying his name definitely has an effect. The man growls and lowers himself over Dwight even further, foreheads almost brushing against each other, as if trying to cover him completely with his own body. It would be so hot to lie beneath him. Dwight wants it... wants him! His nails dig into the man’s arm, leaving marks. Evan doesn't notice or simply doesn't care; too occupied with getting Dwight over the edge.

Dwight arches his back as much as possible, seeking to be even closer, and his head falls back against the wall as he closes his eyes in lust. “Hah, ah! Ah! Yes, yes, yes! Evan!” He can’t keep quiet. He needs to come. He needs to- ah! As Dwight comes, the head of his penis is covered by the man's hand to allow him to catch most of the semen.

It takes a couple of minutes for Dwight to get down from the high of having had another orgasm. When he has enough energy to open his eyes, Evan has withdrawn and pulled up his overall again. Dwight shivers as the cold settles in and he forces himself to draw up his underwear and pants with shaking hands.

The man seems hesitant as if he doesn’t know where to go from here. Dwight doesn't either. He’s waiting for a generator to sound or someone to come running and distract them, but nothing happens. Oh my god, what if someone saw or heard them? Dwight’s afterglow is ruined by panic as he hurries to get off the pallet.

Obviously, the man notices the change in his mood and takes a step further back. After Dwight has looked himself over to make sure there isn’t semen or any other evidence of what’s happened on his clothes, he looks up at the man. The killer is still standing there. As if he’s waiting. It makes Dwight both confused and nervous. Is he expected to do or say something?

The panic that rises in him is probably shown quite clearly on his face, because the man looks off into the distance and walks away without a word.

Damn it! Why is he so worthless in these situations? The man made him come – twice! – as well as letting him live and Dwight just stood there like an idiot. He hasn't even done anything to make the man feel good - letting him do all the work! But then he’s ashamed by his thoughts about a killer. Why should Dwight worry about making him feel good? This is only a distraction. This isn't… isn't a thing between them!

Dwight’s groin is still wet as he hurryingly runs off to find the others.

 

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

 

Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

The Man of My Dreams // When Dreams Come True
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion.

Chapter 5: Agreement

Notes:

 
 
First posted on January 10, 2023. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

~ Agreement ~

 

As trial after trial passes by where the Trapper is nowhere to be seen, Dwight realizes how incredibly messed up their .... thing is. He won't call it a relationship. You can't have a relationship with a killer, with a monst - !

... But he isn't a monster, is he?

Dwight has come a long way from that first trial where he didn't see anything human about him at all. Evan is human. A killer, yes, but still human. Dwight bites on a fingernail. Does it change anything? Does it make it less horrible when he is hunting and killing them? The man is only Evan to Dwight. To everyone else he is still the Trapper - someone to be feared.

Dwight is mad at himself. He's so weak. A little attention and he gives it up so easily! He was never like that before. He was always on his guard, always careful and slow to act. He needs to stop whatever it is that they're doing. They'll get caught one day or Dwight might accidentally do or say something that reveals the truth.

He feels horrible about keeping his interactions with Evan a secret. Although no one suspects anything as far as he knows, the guilt is still eating away at him. If he stops now, he can pretend it never happened and put it behind him; he can go back to how it was before.

No touches. No warmth.



... Nothing to look forward to.



He feels the familiar pull of being dragged into a trial. He glances over the group huddled around the campfire to see who is joining him.
Jane frowns and looks both scared and pissed, immediately revealing herself as having been chosen. Dwight doesn't have time to locate the other two before his surroundings change.



A swamp. Well, that's just great.



He moves as silently as he can, staying close to the ground and keeping his eyes and ears open. A movement in his peripheral view almost makes him jump in surprise. Nancy gives him a careful wave from her spot hidden in the greenery. He responds in kind. They both hear a sound close by and freeze. Has the killer already found them?

Nancy takes a deep breath and makes a gesture for Dwight to stay back while she stalks forward. As she disappears behind some trees, worry builds in his stomach. He's ready to take off at a moment's notice, anticipating all hell breaking lose at any second.

A minute passes by. Maybe two. Then he can't stand it any longer. Although he's in hiding, he's still a sitting duck out here.

As soon as he starts moving, Nancy returns briefly into view. She points to the ground, making a huge deal out of avoiding something she's found, and his heart starts beating faster. Is it what he thinks it is? She is gone before he can even ask.

His legs are heavy as he almost crawls through the tall grass and bushes. Reaching the spot Nancy pointed out, he sees a well-hidden trap. The sight doesn't scare him. It's almost reassuring... Until he remembers that he should avoid the man. Avoid whatever there is between them.

As Dwight follows Nancy's trail the sound from before becomes clear - Quentin is working on a generator close by. Nancy has joined in to make it go faster. He nods towards Dwight. "Hey."

Dwight answers back in a quiet voice. "Hi."

They don't need three people on one generator and they really shouldn't be gathered in a group like this, it will just make it easier for the... for... Dwight doesn't want to think about Evan hurting his friends.

"I'll go find another one."

"Watch out. It's the Trapper," Quentin warns, unaware they already know.

"Don't worry," Nancy butts in without looking up. "Meg and Nea say Dwight's an expert on running the Trapper around in circles. Even better than they are." She gives Dwight an encouraging smile.

Guilt gnaws at him.

Quentin gives him a look over as if he wants to dispute it but then just shrugs. "Fine."

As Dwight pulls away from them in search for another generator, he mulls over her words. If he follows his new plan of going back to how things were before everything became so strange, it would mean no more... dallying with the killer.

If the others believe him to have some great technique to distract the Trapper and that suddenly doesn't work anymore but instead fails repeatedly, wouldn't that be a bit suspicious? They'd probably ask him if something’s happened, what’s changed. There's no way he can be put in a position of having to explain that.

Also, if he fails to keep the killer occupied, the others will suffer for it. What should he do?



It doesn't take long for Dwight to be spotted. He freezes in the man's line of sight, briefly contemplating if he's going to be carried off like last time. But the man simply goes off in another direction without even acknowledging him. And it's not a one-off thing. It continues like that throughout the whole trial. What's going on? He doesn't know why, but the notion of being ignored actually hurts.

Although he still spares Dwight - so far - the Trapper is brutal in this trial, showing no hint of the gentle Evan. He drags off Quentin to the basement; the teenager kicking and yelling the whole way.

The basement is not a place you want to go. There's only one door and if you get cornered down there... you don't stand a chance.
Even so, Dwight won't abandon Quentin. He stalks down the stairs, well aware that he might meet the man on the way down.

Hearing a yell of pain, he follows the sound. The Trapper stands in the middle of a room with his back turned, glaring at his victim who hangs from a large, bloody hook. The older man seems so preoccupied that he doesn't notice Dwight's stare.

Quentin blinks, managing to glimpse him at the door, and starts to loudly swear and curse at the killer. Under the clamour, Dwight creeps inside and ducks behind some rubble. The Trapper grunts, irritated by the shouting, and grips his cleaver firmer, as if tempted to cut the yelling short. Quentin seems to take notice and quiets down, pretending to be too exhausted to continue the tirade.

Dwight holds his breath, hoping that the Trapper will feel compelled to leave the basement to hunt the others.

Please go, please.



Seconds feels like minutes before the man finally leaves with heavy disgruntled steps.

Dwight waits as long as he dares before leaving his hideout. Quentin is struggling and they both know he doesn't have long left. None of them are strong enough to free Quentin from the ceiling hook; the teenager being too wounded and weak and Dwight unable to get leverage.

"Dwight!"

He turns around at Quentin's panicked yelp. Something slices through the air and Dwight throws himself to the side - but it's too late.
He screams in surprise as his vision fills with cold steel. Adrenaline pumps through his body as he scrambles to get to a safe distance.

The Trapper came back!

He wants to run but the hulking man is blocking the only exit. Dwight is shaking, probably reeking of fear. That's when he notices the blood. The cleaver has slashed through his clothes as well as flesh; leaving a long gash across his chest. The chilly air clings to the exposed skin, most of his torso clearly visible through the ruined shirt which hangs in tatters on his body.

The wound appears superficial but the sting makes him grit his teeth, the pain needling him as if it had only waited for him to notice the injury before unleashing. It's the first time in a while that he's suffered any damage in one of the Trapper's trials that haven't been by the traps or his own stupidity.

He heard the man walk off so why did he come back? He isn't one to taunt his victims. Did he know Dwight was there all along? Were him leaving a way to lure him out?

If he had any doubt before, they're long gone now. The Trapper is out to kill him.

But the killer doesn't make any sign of wanting to close the gap between them, doesn't threaten him with that gruesome weapon of his, and as the initial shock dies down, Dwight frowns. What is he waiting for?

Quentin groans in pain.

Damn it! There's no time! Dwight can't leave him to die but the large man won't budge. He swallows nervously, thinking about his next move. He's going to get himself killed, he knows that. Apparently the immunity he's been enjoying so far has ended. But his only two options are to wait for Quentin to die and then die himself, or try to lead the Trapper away from the basement to give Quentin a chance. Maybe one of the others saw them and will come to the teenager's aid?

Before thinking it through Dwight lashes out, hoping to surprise the Trapper enough to leave a gap where he can run past him. The man doesn't move an inch, staring down at him underneath that freaky mask.



And then... The creature in the sky is there.



Time's up. With the Trapper guarding his prey Dwight has no chance. The room fills with terrified screams and then... nothing, the bloodied hook the only trace left of his team mate.

Dwight wants to yell and curse at him for letting the creature take Quentin, for standing in his way. But that would be foolish.
He's a killer. Of course he'd let it happen.

And now Dwight's the only one left.

He's in the Trapper's sight and the man grips his cleaver firmly. He's going to die. He knows it. There's no way to defend himself. But... the others must have finished at least one generator by now, perhaps even two. They might stand a chance.
He doesn't care about Jane much, who he knows is the fourth member, but he thinks about Nancy who has such faith in his abilities against the Trapper. He's already failed Quentin. He can help the others. If he draws out his own death he can buy them some time.

As his mind is working at a frantic pace, the man only stands there watching him. He can strike him down with one blow and get it over with, so why doesn't he? That's when Dwight notices that the Trapper's head is slightly lowered, and although that is not unusual when he looks at Dwight since the man is huge, it seems as though his gaze is lower than usual.

The chest wound makes itself known again and he grimaces at the discomfort. The fabric of the destroyed shirt brushes against the cut, making it sting even worse. Without any further thought and irritated by the pain, he easily rips off the offending piece of cotton.

The Trapper's head tilts and Dwight freezes. Is he... is he looking at - ?

To be honest, his pale chest with barely defined muscles and modest body hair isn't much too look at, but the man seems mesmerized. Or is it only hope that makes him read the situation as such?

A light bulb goes off in his head. If the Trapper really wanted Dwight dead, he could've easily done so before. He only wanted to make sure he couldn't save Quentin.

“Evan…?”

The grip around the cleaver turns looser, until it appears to be about to fall out of the man's hand. So he hasn't been facing the Trapper this trial. Not really.

He takes the chance of approaching him, one tiny step at a time, trying to read the older man for any signs of aggression. Evan stands completely still, allowing Dwight to come nearer. When they are close enough to touch, Dwight tilts back his head, searching for those brown eyes he's seen before. It's too dark to make sure, but he feels Evan's eyes on him.

The man makes no attempt to initiate anything, no touching and no talking. Not even a caress across his cheek like he usually does.
Dwight swallows nervously. Is something wrong? Why doesn't he do anything? His mind is working overtime, trying to make sense of it.

He has to do something, has to make a move, or Evan might tire of this and go off and kill the others.

“C-can I…” Dwight swallows, tries to gather courage. “Can I touch you?”

The silence is thick and he cringes. He's not aroused and frankly he doubts Evan is either, but he doesn't know what else to do. Shaking hands reach out for the man's clothed chest and when he isn't stopped, he pressed them gently against the rubber of the overalls. There's no reaction, leaving Dwight discouraged. If Evan isn't interested in him anymore, he hopes that he will strike him down instead of humiliating him.

His hands wander over to the man's naked shoulders and arms. His biceps are huge - much larger than Dwight remembers. His cheeks flashes hot as he recalls how Evan held him down twice before. He licks his dry lips. This is the first time he's been so bold to take the first step and he doesn't know where to go from here.

Trying to kiss would require the removal of the mask, and even if Evan might be amiable to do that, Dwight is terrified of what the man will look like underneath. There will be no chance of him doing anything close to sexual if he can't get into it, and if Evan is as horribly disfigured like some of the other killers... Okay, let's not think about that. What else? He can jerk him off, that's a safe bet. They've done it before and Evan seemed to like it. Well, Evan did it to himself... but it's not like Dwight doesn't have any experience. He does!

"Is it okay if I-?" He carefully taps one of the buckles with a finger and turns his face up to the silent man. There's no protest, so he guesses it's okay.



One buckle. And then the other.



The top half of the overall falls down over his broad chest and stomach, getting stuck at the huge man's lower torso. Dwight is going to need to pull it down further on his own. He actually hasn't seen the man's dick before. What if it's deformed? What if it's not anything like a normal human male's genitals at all?

He takes a shaky breath. He just needs to touch it. That's all. Look away and fantasize about some other dude if need be!

The echoing sound of a generator is faintly heard in the distance and Evan jerks at the sound. Panicking, Dwight hurriedly drags down the overall down to the man's knees. Fuck. It's huge. He stares at it. At least it looks perfectly normal, but the size of it... it's not inhumanly large but it's the biggest one Dwight has ever personally have to deal with.

Evan is still soft and Dwight knows he has to do a good job to keep him distracted from continuing the trial. He stretches out a hand to touch. The skin is soft beneath his fingertips. Okay, he can do this!

He lets his whole hand grip around Evan's member, barely able to fit around it. He slowly strokes the head, but it's dry and unsexy and Evan doesn't respond. They need lube. Or any kind of substitute if this is going to be pleasurable.

He throws cursory glances around in search for aid, but to his horror he only sees spots of blood and other liquids he probably doesn't want to know the identity of.

Evan grunts displeased and Dwight's eyes snap up to his. Did the man see his gaze wander? Is he mad? Dwight needs to up the ante or this will end badly. He steels himself. He's rarely performed blowjobs before, not really enjoying them, but this is not about his own pleasure.

He gets down quickly. He can't sit on his knees since he wouldn't be able to reach, so instead he kneels at Evan's feet. It's humiliating.

Dwight's breath touches the head and he tentatively licks the tip. Thankfully it doesn't taste bad, which actually surprises Dwight because he doubts the killers care much for cleanliness. In truth, it doesn't taste much of anything - a small mercy.
He licks the tip again, this time letting his tongue trace the slit. Evan grunts and Dwight looks up, afraid that he's somehow displeased him. That's when he notices the man is no longer completely soft.

He laps at the head, swirling his tongue around it, before slowly taking it into his mouth. Evan grunts again, the cleaver falling to the ground with a clank. It rattles Dwight, taking him out of the moment, until he redoubles his efforts at the obvious good sign.

Closing his mouth tightly around the head, he forces more of the lenght inside his warmth. His tongue laps at the sensitive flesh, moistening it, while both his hands wraps around whatever part of the man's dick not currently in his mouth. When he withdraws for air, he can with a certain pride see the result of his work - the older man's dick almost fully hard. At least he's not a grower, Dwight thinks thankfully.

He widens his gap and relaxes as much as he can to allow even more of Evan inside, almost reaching the back of his throat, although he does have a gag reflex and that's where he draws the line. He pulls back to the tip, breathes in air and then sheathes as much as he can into his mouth again. Evan growls low, a vibrating sound that takes Dwight back to the trial where they got stuck in the car; where the large man had forcefully thrusted against him, allowing him no escape until they both finished.

Dwight's hands strokes Evan's erection, hot and warm under his fingers, while his mouth sinks down. The faint smell of musk makes his head swim and it's all too much.

Dwight's kneeling position is starting to bother him and he tries to spread his legs on the cold floor, trying to ease up his discomfort.
The mask is now fully tilted down as he watches the younger man; watches as he tries to take all inside. What if the others caught him like this- on the floor, debasing himself for a killer, allowing his mouth to be used, allowing himself to be taken like - fuck.

He moans around the dick, drool trickling down his chin. Evan twitches and Dwight continues to suck, continues to take as much as he can, mouth and hands moving together. His cheeks are flushed - because of the effort, nothing else - and he can't even feel the chill of the room anymore. He's starting to feel slightly desperate; kissing and licking every inch before letting him sink deep down his mouth. But he's only desperate because he wants the man to get off, to get it over with and - Oh, he can taste the precum in his mouth. He... he better swallow it, right?

"Mmhm," Dwight moans.

Why doesn't Evan thrust into his mouth? Why doesn't he grab his hair or something? He can feel how painfully hard the man is, it's driving Dwight mad! Not that he wants him to touch or to - no! Not at all. This is better. Much better. Dwight is thrusting his whole body forward as he works Evan over. This is less like a blowjob and more like fucking himself on the man's dick. He closes his eyes, salivating at the image.

Dwight's position on the floor is agonizing. He almost wants to pull off to - but no, this isn't about him. He can power through this. It's over soon.

The sound of wet squelching in the room as he slurps around the thick dick is almost pornographic. How did it get so soaked without lube?
His grip turns tighter, as if trying to dissuade himself from doing something stupid, when finally he can't take it anymore.
One hand slides down to the front of his own pants and to the hardness straining against it. The older man breathes heavy above him and Dwight knows that the motion of his hand rubbing against his own erection doesn't escape the man's intent gaze.

Evan is too big to take in all at once, so he gets into a rhythm of thrusting with his mouth to wet the shaft as well as stroking with his hands. Damn, he's so big, he's so - ! Dwight shamelessly moans again, an embarrassing sound he only makes because - fuck, it feels so good!
He has barely touched himself and he can come at any moment. He can imagine the man's voice edging him on. You like this, don't you? Sucking cock. Look at you, all worked up like this. Suck harder!

He easily spears himself on the man's length over and over. Evan groans and one of his hands come to rest carefully at the side of his head. Dwight almost expects the man to take over, impatiently rocking into him as deep as possible, but he still doesn't. It fills him with a sense of empowerment to have this big, scary killer weak in his knees for him.

As one hand massages the base of Evan's thick dick and the other is pressing down on his own hardness, he can feel himself drawing close.
He whines, eager to reach that end, craving it. He wants Evan to push him down and rip open his pants and - he comes with an aborted shout. He shakes, his vision whitens out and he almost chokes on the dick in his mouth. That's enough to have the other man comes as well.
He tenses up and that's the only warning Dwight gets. He's about to pull off, having no intention of swallowing, but then another generator starts up and Evan's hand grabs the back of his head, keeping him still, as the semen spurts into his mouth and down his throat.

Another obscene moan sounds in the room, and Dwight doesn't know if it's from him or Evan.

When his dick is spent and starts to soften, the man pulls out, but his eyes don't leave Dwight. He can imagine how wrecked he probably looks and it's hot as hell.

The weight of the hand is still at the back of his hand, but it's not a bruising hold. Instead he affectionately strokes Dwight's hair. Does this mean that they are back to... whatever they had before?

The man withdraws his hand and starts dressing again, Dwight almost whining at the loss of touch. Shakily, he stands up, trying to discreetly hide the damp patch on the front of his pants. But the man brushes away his hands, a finger skimming along the moist fabric. Dwight shudders.

Even with a mask on, the man seems pleased by what he sees.

"You. Want."

Those are the first words he's spoken tonight. As unexpected as it is, it's also very welcome. Dwight has missed that low timbre of his voice.
The mask tilts as if waiting for an answer and he realizes that it's not a statement but a question.

"Yeah," he says slowly, before he can't think too much on it. "I want."

The man makes a satisfied sound and Dwight blushes. Is that what all of this has been about - why Evan avoided him all trial? Why he didn't touch him back or give him any encouragement, instead letting Dwight do all the heavy lifting? He tries to catch the man's eyes, but it's still too dark even at this close distance. Had Evan been uncertain if Dwight was really willing?

Evan lifts one hand and lets it carefully stroke along his cheek, a caress so familiar and ingrained into his skin, that he shuts his eyes and lean into the touch. He doesn't want to think too much of what all this means. He just wants to enjoy this fleeting moment. He lets out a content sigh. He's missed this.

A loud screeching sound of rusty metal marks the opening of the gate. For the first time, Dwight hesitates to leave. As soon as he gets back to the campfire, he will have to face Quentin and the others, he will start questioning himself, he'll be wrecked by guilt and the threat of his secret getting exposed will hang over him. Things are much simpler here, with him.

But he doesn't have a choice.

"I... I have to go."

Evan hums in reply. When the man doesn't make a move to stop him, Dwight starts towards the door. But then he turns around for one last look. Evan is watching him. Words still fail him so they merely stand there in silence. After a moment, Dwight inclines his head, gives one last lingering look, and then leaves. For the first time their goodbye doesn't feel rushed or awkward. It barely feels like a goodbye at all, knowing that sooner or later they're going to see each other again.

Dwight looks forward to it.

 

 

***************************

 

 

Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

Agreement
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash, Nancy, Steve, Yui, Felix, Yun-Jin.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion, the Spirit, the Plague, Ghost Face, the Oni, the Trickster.

Chapter 6: Suspicion

Notes:

 
 
First posted on May 19, 2023. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

 

Dwight's knees are shaking as he trudges towards the camp. Thankfully, his chest wound and stained pants are a thing of the past, as when you exit a trial you return to your previous state. But just because what he did doesn't show outwardly, doesn't mean that it hasn't followed him back here. He leans against the trunk of a large tree, taking a moment to steel himself. He needs to get his head on straight before joining the others.

Dwight has died, been mutilated, allowed himself to be hunted down many times over, all in the hopes of saving someone else. He does what he has to, to keep the others alive.

To tell the truth, he didn't at first. In the beginning when everything was still new and therefore even more terrifying, he just wanted to stay alive no matter the consequences. But as time passed by and he became one of the more senior, more experienced, ones, his sense of responsibility grew.

Dying still sucks. It hurts. It still haunts him. But death doesn't last in this place. You always come back. Some days that is a curse and other days it's just a fact of life.

Some of the others look to him as a leader, someone they can trust. He feels the need to be the person they see him as; to be the guiding hand, the listening ear, the voice of reason. Even a human shield if need be.

But this thing with Evan...

Dwight can't lie to himself anymore. Well, he can, but what would be the point? What they did in the basement, what they have been doing in trial after trial over a long period now... Dwight likes it. Enjoys it far more than he should.

It's not a power trip thing - playing with something, someone, that can easily kill you but chooses not to. It's not about a loss of control or being dominated. Evan doesn't force him, although Dwight has tried to make himself think that sometimes just to ease his own conscience.
It's not about being pent-up and eager for sexual release either. He's never been tempted or desperate enough to try anything with any of the other killers (and how is that a sentence he even has to put out there?)

It's just... an Evan thing, he guess.



The campfire is almost deserted when he's finally ready to face his trial mates. Jane occupies a log by herself, staring into the flames deep in thought. She survived the trial, so why she looks so beaten-down is anyone's guess.
Quentin, on the other hand, had a tough time. Getting taken by the Creature in the Sky is... well, Dwight wouldn't wish that on anyone. Worn-down and tired, the teenager sits pressed against Nancy as she pats his back in comfort.

The last figure is a bit more surprising. Adam sits with his back straight and hands clasped together in his lap, perfectly poised as if he's in a board room and not on a log in the forest. Why is he here?

"Dwight," Adam's head turns. "Welcome back."

Dark eyes inspect him. Although Dwight knows there's no trace of what just happened, the sensation of a heavy, thick member in his aching mouth and his own satisfying orgasm splattering the inside of his pants still lingers, and Adam seems to pick up on it.

Dwight gives a short nod in reply. That's all he's capable of right now. As he sits down, Jane looks up as if she just noticed him. Her only greeting is a sharp look. Hello to you too, he thinks sarcastically.

"What's the deal with you and the Trapper?"

Dwight startles. "Wha-?"

"I saw you," Jane says in an accusing tone.

Dwight turns cold all over. How could she have- ? But then she continues and he fights to keep the relief off of his face. "You were in the basement with the Trapper. Quentin died and you survived." She spits out that last word, as if it's poison.

"I-I couldn't help-" Dwight stammers, not at all prepared for her vicious verbal attack.

She cuts him off. "Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"

"He tried," an exhausted Quentin responds. "You weren't there."

"He 'tried'?" She repeats mockingly, glaring at Dwight. "So you ran into the basement, basically a death sentence, tried to help Quentin and then what? The killer just let you go?"

"N-no," Dwight is still so unbalanced from the direction the conversation has taken, that he fumbles for anything to say in his defence. "He-he attacked and I-"

A short, bitter laugh. "Attacked? Really? A killer attacked you - you - and with no one to help and with only one way out, you still managed to escape?"

Quentin makes an effort to speak, but Jane barely takes a breath before continuing. "The Trapper slaughters us but avoids you. Why?"

"I-I don't-"

Quentin leans heavily on Nancy now, too tired to keep upright. She frowns as she looks over at Jane. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed it." Jane has the look of someone who's cracked a puzzle no one else has been able to. "In every trial with the Trapper -" His heart starts beating faster, "- Dwight always survives."

Quentin makes a low grunt and Nancy turns all of her attention back to him. Jane looks over to Adam who isn't even looking at any of them. When she doesn't get the reaction she was no doubt hoping for, she becomes frustrated. "Come on!" She huffs. "You can't be that blind!"

"Say it." The voice, tone clipped and without patience, almost makes Dwight jump from surprise. Even Jane looks startled. "Spit it out, whatever you want to say." Meg walks into the circle of light and warmth radiating from the fire. She's stiff, arms crossed over her chest, eyes locked on Jane.

The older woman nods triumphantly, as if she was just waiting for one person willing to listen. Dwight's mouth turns dry, his palms sweaty. If she gets Meg on her side, half the camp or more will follow.

“One time, Dwight was between me and the Trapper. The killer could've easily taken him, but didn't. Instead he hunted me.” Jane explains, a bit calmer now that she has an audience. "Today I saw the Trapper spot Dwight just to turn around and walk the other way!"

She can barely keep the excitement out of her voice as she continues to recount several other trials. Meg's mask of impatience and annoyance cracks and Dwight can spot the uncertainty when event after event is brought up. That doubt, that hesitation, might as well have signed his death warrant.

He knows that she is recalling all the trials she's shared with him, and that does him no favours. If she tries hard enough, she is certain to remember something incriminating. And together with Jane's testimony...

"It happens too often to be a coincidence."

The silence is thick. Dwight can't bear to look at any of them, his face burning with shame and anger.

Surprisingly, Adam is the one who speaks. "We are aware of the killers displaying some level of intelligence. They can and do deploy somewhat advanced tactics to hunt and kill." His voice draws everyone's attention. Meg looks desperate for an explanation. "Some of the killers appear more prone to attack the survivor they perceive to be a larger threat."

Out of everyone, Meg is painfully aware of this. She drives some of the killers insane with her ability to outrun and trick them. But she's not the only one who is clearly a high priority kill for many of them. David always triggers the legion to go after him because he's the biggest and strongest of the survivors, and Ash's ingenuity in trials often makes him a big target as well.

Adam looks over them all, one by one, as if wanting it to sink in. His eyes stay a bit longer at Dwight's huddled form. "Dwight might be perceived as less of a threat."

This is probably the only time Dwight has been glad to look non-threatening and weak, as he waits for the group to absorb Adam's words.

It doesn't take many seconds for Jane to regain wind in her sails. She snorts disbelieving. "So Nancy and I are bigger threats than Dwight?"

Nancy appears annoyed and looks ready to snap at her, but Adam just gently shakes his head. "The fact is that we have very little information about this place. The trials seem to have some purpose, some meaning, but we don't know what. It is clear, however, that our fear is of importance. Perhaps it feeds the killers in some way."

Dwight has suspected that for a while now, but hearing it out loud from someone as intelligent and level-headed as Adam, lends strength to the theory.

Some of the killers obviously relish the fear they can squeeze out of the survivors, while others treat it as just a task to be completed.
Death doesn't seem to be the main thing they're after or they wouldn't allow some of them to escape while concentrating on others, like the killer with purple hair and yellow jacket always gunning after Yun-Jin, or the Shape always going after Laurie.

Also, it's evident that some of the psychopaths like to play with their food and prefer to maim than kill.

If they're not after death, then what? If they only demanded pain they could've easily captured one or two survivors each trial to torture for hours instead of ending it with their death. Although Ghost Face, the Doctor and some of the others love to inflict pain, they also love to inflict terror in their victims. Even the Trapper doesn't seem wholly immune against the need to make others fear him.

And it's clear that the trials, the eerie places and even the appearance of the killers themselves are all manufactured to heighten the survivors’ terror. So there must be a reason for it.

But... there have been trials where all of them have survived. Mostly when Dwight keeps the Trapper otherwise... occupied. Can the killers choose not to hunt them? Don't they need to "feed" every trial? Or maybe they aren't dependent on fear but can use other emotions to their benefit?

"Some of them are focused on specific people to feed them that fear," Adam continues. "They derive a certain satisfaction by-" He stops himself with a glance to Quentin. The boy shudders against Nancy's shoulder, and Dwight knows that he's thinking about the burned man in the hat.

"Yeah, they're assholes," Meg snarls protectively. The teenager gives her a small, tired smile.

Nancy pipes up. "So the Trapper is targeting Dwight?" She looks worried, as if the man would suddenly show up to drag him away.

"It might be that the Trapper has found it more useful to keep Dwight in a constant state of fear by killing people around him. Saving him for last."

The group is silent for a moment after that. Then Meg hums in agreement. "Sounds about right. It wouldn't be the first psycho targeting someone."

That wakes Jane up from her frozen state. "But Dwight isn't being targeted - that's the whole thing! He isn't killed last, he always escapes."

Quentin almost topples over, too exhausted to even lean against Nancy, and she quickly grabs him to keep him upright. She gives Jane a frustrated glare. “So what? Everyone knows how good Dwight is against the Trapper.”

"Is he? Or is the killer letting him go?"

Meg interjects before Dwight can even start defending himself. "Why would a killer let anyone escape?"

Jane frowns. “Maybe they have some kind of agreement." She sounds unsure.

This has gone on for too long, and Dwight needs to stand up for himself. He uses her uncertainty to his favour. “Agreement?” He lets some of his anger sip out. “The killers want us dead. All of us." He gives them a long stare. Jane is the only one avoiding his eyes. "That's their objective. Ours is to survive."

“Three dead survivors are better than none," Jane spits out suspiciously. "Maybe you’ve sold us out.”

Dwight is getting fired up. Although he kind of has a thing with Evan, it's meant to save his friends, not hurt them. Her accusations feel like a knife in the back. But Meg intervenes. “That’s enough." When Jane makes ready to protest, the red-head glares at her. "Dwight has been here longer than any of you."

That doesn't really make Dwight feel any better. The fact that he's been stuck here long and therefore should be trusted isn't a great case for his defence. Actually, it can almost be seen as the opposite. He needs to lessen Jane's misgivings because she can easily get enough people on her side, chief amongst them Ace and anyone he can talk over, and tear the group apart. Dwight can't let the suspicion grow, can't let it go that far.

What can he say that will sound believable? He can't claim luck is what's keeping him alive. Even if he was the luckiest man alive, Jane wouldn't believe it. Hell, Dwight himself wouldn't believe it.

"I've studied the killers since that first trial," Dwight decides to tell a half-truth. "I've learned different strategies to use against them. I've learned, because I've been killed and maimed and tortured so many times-" His voice breaks.

Nancy looks sad, as if she wants to go and comfort him; instead she tightens her grip around Quentin. Meg is pissed and throwing daggers with her eyes at Jane, the latter who actually seem to be a bit surprised at his emotional outburst.

He's not finished though. He's almost vibrating with anger. "One of the trials you mentioned before, the one where the Trapper tried to drag you away? Did you forget that I stopped him? That I ran into him to save you?"

After all he's done, she's trying to backstab him like this? Damn if he'll ever do anything to save her again.



(He probably will.)



"You survived that trial, if you remember. Or do you only remember what's convenient for you?"

Jane actually has the decency to look a bit ashamed. The others weren't in the trial in question, but since she doesn't dispute his claim they know it's true. He feels righteous. It emboldens him to go further. "Yes, I try to keep alive while helping my team at the same time. Everyone does. But I don't see you accusing anyone else of being in league with a killer because they don't die enough in your opinion."

Again, when emotions are high, Adam is the one who steps in. "After we started listening to Dwight's observations of the killers and using his strategies against them, we've had a higher survival rate," he points out. "His insights aid the group. We should all strive to do so."

"We've all been through a lot," Nancy says diplomatically. "We need to stick together. Help each other."

Jane still appears ready to argue but Meg holds up a hand, stopping her. "You don't know what it was like in the beginning." She is a lot more sombre now. "We were dying like flies. Me, Jake, Claudette and Dwight. We had no rest between trials, no hope of surviving, nothing."

Quentin looks about ready to keel over, but he still listens with a heavy severity. Although he hasn't been here as long as Meg or Dwight, he's been here longer than Jane. Longer than Adam and Nancy. He remembers how it was back then. How things have changed.

"If you have proof of sabotage or something, fine." Meg sighs. "Otherwise, keep it to yourself."

Taking her words to be the end of the conversation, Quentin and Nancy decide to withdraw from the group. As they walk past Dwight, he mumbles quietly, "I'm sorry I couldn't help you." He still feels bad that he couldn't save the teenager from the creature.

Quentin pats his shoulder. "You tried. It's more than some did." Jane huffs irritated and goes off in the opposite direction.

When Jane and the teenagers are gone, Dwight gives Meg a grateful smile. "Thanks." She snorts. "Jane is lucky. If Nea had been here, she would've clocked her."

Dwight chuckles at that. But then he turns serious. "I really mean it." If Meg had turned on him, he doesn't know what he would've done. The fact that she stood on his side, means a lot.

Meg shrugs. "We have each other's back. Like it should be. We have enough problems to worry about."

 

That is the statement of the century.

 

Meg's about to leave but stops and gives him a sharp look. "Don't let her give you any trouble."

He manages a soft smile. "I won't."

Then he remembers Adam. Now there's only the two of them. The older man isn't looking at him and appears to be lost to his own thoughts.
He makes Dwight slightly nervous. The man is smart and probably sees more than any of them gives him credit for. Does he believe Dwight? Or does he suspect something?

He knows that his secret won't be able to stay hidden forever. Hasn't he already anticipated the worst outcome of his choices?

But worrying about something and having it turn real is not at all the same thing. He doesn't know if he can continue being with Evan with the threat of getting caught held over his head. But he doesn't know if he'll be able to keep away either.

 

 

Then he feels Adam's concerned gaze.



"We should speak."

 

 

***************************

 

 

Chapter 7: The Fog

Notes:

 
 
First posted on August 19, 2023. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

 

Adam's voice is still calm, but grave. They are alone now. Whatever he wanted to say he could've said it in front of everyone else before. But he waited. Dwight swallows nervously. What's going on? What does Adam know? Has he seen something? Has he-

“Come.”

Dwight shakes his head, dispelling his doomsday-thoughts as Adam rises to his feet.

“Let us go somewhere to talk, in private,” Adam offers. When Dwight doesn't make a move to follow his lead, the man frowns slightly. “Unless you prefer to speak here?” The tone of his voice makes clear what he thinks of it.

Dwight considers his options. He doesn't want to wander off somewhere with the man, but at the same time he's afraid that Jane or someone else will come back. It's a real possibility, the campfire usually draws survivors even if they've found other places they prefer. Also, someone might return from trial at any moment. Whatever Adam wants to talk about, Dwight's sure he doesn't want anyone else to hear it.

“Uh… Sure. We can go.”

Adam doesn't seem pleased at his reply, instead appearing resigned. He doesn't want to do this, Dwight realizes. It makes his worry shoot up to an even higher level.

He steels himself as Adam marches directly out into the dark shadows. He walks with a purpose, controlled but brisk steps, as if he wants this over with as quickly as possible. Dwight shares his sentiment but has difficulty making his feet obey.

He takes several deep breaths and tries to convince himself that Adam doesn't know anything damaging - otherwise, why would he have defended him in front of everyone? But it doesn't calm him at all. He trails the man unhappily.

As they dive deeper and deeper into the forest, Dwight is starting to have second thoughts. What are they doing out here? They shouldn't really have to walk this far to have some privacy, should they?

The others usually have their favourite spots that they hang out in and rarely intrude on others, knowing that most of them need a respite from time to time. And seeing as several where having relationships with each other, it's a big 'no no' to seek each other out outside of the campfire, unless it's explicitly stated between the parties.

What does he really know about Adam? What if he’s leading him into a trap?

Dwight's imagination is working overtime when Adam suddenly stops. He almost walks right into the man's back and hurriedly takes a couple of steps back.

"Adam...?"

He goes rigid but doesn't respond. Dwight walks around the man, making sure to keep some distance between them.

There's a small tree in front of them, its naked branches stretching into the non-visible sky. It's the first tree without leaves that Dwight's seen so far - the rest of the forest seemingly stuck in summer. Fog rises from the ground and seems to lie as a thick blanket over the pale grass, almost hiding the ground completely. 

He doesn't recognize this place. Not that he's done much exploring, but he often listens to whatever Meg, Jake and the others have found in the forest, as they scour after resources as well as for a way out. If they had found this, he would've heard about it.

“Where are we?” 

Adam's eyes are fixated on the small tree as if it holds all the answers in the universe. The reply comes after a long moment. “I call it ‘the fog’.”

"The fog?"

"It’s the wall that separates us from the others.”

The others? His mind goes to the campfire and survivors, but why would there be- ? “The killers are on the other side!” He almost shouts in pure panic, staggering backward violently.

“Schh,” Adam admonishes with a sharp glare, “Keep your voice down.”

“T-this is dangerous! We should-“

“They cannot cross over the fog.” Adam is as matter-of-fact as if he's talking about the weather.

Dwight looks around wildly, making sure they're not about to be attacked. His heart calms a bit when he realizes that they appear to be alone. “H-how can you be sure?”

Adam retrieves something from his pocket, keeping it hidden in his fist. Dwight takes a step back. What if this is a trap after all? What if Jane is right that someone is working with the killers - and it's Adam?

“No one knows about this place. Except me." A heavy sigh, as if the knowledge is a heavy burden. His steady and firm gaze lands on Dwight. "And now you." Whatever is in his hand remains hidden as he puts it back. “I ask that you keep it to yourself.”

“I-I… w-why?” He's not even sure what he's asking. Why are you telling me this? Why is it a secret? Why me?

“We all have matters we would prefer to keep private, do you not agree?” The words pierce as if it's a knife and Dwight stops breathing for a moment. “I place my trust in you. Will you do the same in return?”

Dwight heart pounds. He knows. He must know. Is this his way to get Dwight to confess?

 

He won't. He can't.

 

He keeps his gaze averted and moves closer to the tree, pretending to study it. “H-how did you find this?”

Thankfully, Adam accepts the change in subject. “I did not. I was shown.”

Shown… by who? A killer?

The split of a second thought that it might have been Evan makes Dwight incredibly angry. Why would he do that? Evan has never shown Dwight any secrets, has never-

He pushes down the madness. No, it can't be Evan. He's killed Adam as brutally as anyone other survivor in trials. He's never shown the man any preference, not like he has with Dwight. He can't keep his voice from shaking with withheld emotion. "Why are you showing me this? What do you want?”

“I merely intended to show that your secret will be safe with me."

There are no ifs, ands or buts about it. He knows. But how much? They stare at each other for a moment until it's clear that neither will say anything further. Adam gives a slight shrug with one shoulder. "If you wish to talk, you know where to find me." 

When the expected argument doesn't come, Dwight deflates. Instead of putting pressure on him to spill the beans, Adam simply throws a last glance at the tree before starting to head back. "Are you coming?"

There's no chance in hell that Dwight's staying here. He jogs to catch up.

The whole way back, they don't say a word to each other. Instead Dwight's mind is working overtime. Why did Adam show him this? Is it really as simple as sharing secrets with each other? Or is it a trick? Maybe Jane made Adam so suspicious that he wanted to find out the truth himself?

But that weird place... he knew exactly where to go.

How would Adam of all people know about it? He doesn't go off and explore like some of the others. At least not as far as Dwight is aware. And why would a killer show Adam this?

Even more importantly - what's its purpose? Killers can't go through, Adam said. But... does that mean that survivors can? And what then? What's on the other side?

 

 

This just became much more complicated.

 

 

***************************

 

 

~Alone~

 

Days go by. Weeks -probably. Trial after trial. Adam doesn't talk to him again. At least not about that - the huge elephant lurking in the corner. Instead it's idle chitchat at the campfire now and again - nothing more.

Dwight doesn't know if he should feel relief or not. It's true that he prefers to push worries aside to deal with it at a later date, but at the same time he's on edge just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Even if Adam claimed that 'the fog' is some great secret, big enough to rival Dwight's own, he's still afraid that the man might tell the others. Every time he returns to the camp, he braces himself to meet anger and accusations from the other survivors as they express their disgust. But so far, not even Jane has breached the subject again.

Somehow, Dwight thinks that the constant worry would be easier to bear if he could just see Evan again. Recently, he's been up against practically every other killer out there so far, just waiting for another trial to bring them together. The waiting is agonizing and each new trial is as disappointing as it's terrifying.

Meg tries to joke with him and keep his spirits up; probably thinking that Jane's outburst is what makes him so dejected. Even Quentin seems friendlier. Although the last trial together ended in disaster, the youth doesn't appear to hold any grudge against him. Instead he actually seems more trusting of Dwight now than before.

This is actually the best and closest relationship he's had with any of the other survivors since they got stuck here. And Dwight feels guilty and terrible. They don't know the truth. If they did...

No, he can't wallow in self-pity. He's doing what he can to keep them safe. That's it. He's not doing anything that hurts anybody.

Still, the knowledge doesn't ease his conscience.

 

After yet another long and bloody trial, where Ghost Face took his sweet time hunting them down and killing all four of them, Dwight is exhausted. The others immediately goes off in search for distractions, probably seeking out other survivors. Only Dwight stays at the campfire. He doesn't have anyone to go to. He tries not to feel bitter about that.

He doesn't know how long he sits there alone, when he hears voices. He recognizes Meg. "Yeah, I'm just gonna grab -" The rest is swept away with the wind. He doesn't care who she's with or where she's going, doesn't even look up when he sees movement in his peripheral vision.

"Dwight? You okay?"

Not even lifting his head, he merely give a short nod. He knows that he's transparent, but he's hoping she'll just leave it.

But of course she doesn't. "Jake, I'll come in a bit! You go ahead." The man obeys wordlessly. There's rarely any point in arguing with Meg, the chance of coming out the winner practically zero.

She promptly sits down beside Dwight, leaving little space between them. When he gives her a startled glance, she's pointedly watching the fire instead of him. It relaxes him slightly, unsure if he could stand being scrutinized right now.

"So, what's up with you?"

"Uh, n-nothing. I mean ... it was a rough one."

"Who was it?"

"Ghost Face."

Her face twists into a grimace. "Yeah, he's a real asshole."

They sit silently for a few seconds. 

"On the other hand, he's always an asshole. That's not really news. Is he really the reason why you look so sad? "

He rubs his neck with one hand, uncomfortable about the turn the conversation has taken. "It's just been a lot recently."

Meg doesn't tiptoe around the subject. "Is it Jane?"

"N-no." His protest sounds weak even to his own ears.

He doesn't want Meg to go off on Jane again or make a big deal out of it. The fact is that it's not really about the argument. Or at least not just about it. It's about Adam knowing his secret. It's about the so-called 'the fog' that he can't figure out, it's about not seeing Evan when he needs him the most.

Meg gives him an encouraging pat on his knee. "Ignore her. She just wants someone to blame." He glances at her from the corner of his eye. "I heard she even gave Ace a lashing a few days ago."

"Wha- really?"

She chuckles. "Yeah. But now they're back to their old ways again."

Maybe Meg is right, maybe Jane is just letting her anger target anyone who gets in the way. It probably shouldn't, but it does make him feel a little better.

And if Jane has calm down, and Adam hasn't made any effort in dragging out Dwight's secret into the light, maybe things are going back to normal. That means he should meet Evan soon.

She can clearly see that he's perked up and nudges his shoulder with her own. "If you ever feel down you can always come and talk, you know."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

He can never talk to her, to anyone, about what's going on. But it still feels nice that she cares.

"Or, you know, you can always go and talk to Ash if you need to take your mind off of things. He loves the sound of his own voice. " She grins.

That actually makes him crack a smile as well. Ash is a treasure, and it's completely impossible to dislike him. Not even Jane can resist his charm when he gets started. And his stories tend to change and become more embroidered every time he retells them.

They talk some more about Ash and his crazy life before Meg feels happy to leave him in his current mood to go and chase after Jake.

He is in a better mood, no doubt about it. But that doesn't change the fact that he feels lonely when the sound of her footsteps die out and the campfire is deserted again.

 

If only Evan was here.

 

***************************

 

 

Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

Alone
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash, Nancy, Steve, Yui, Felix, Yun-Jin.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion, the Spirit, the Plague, Ghost Face, the Oni, the Trickster.

Chapter 8: The Doctor Is In

Summary:

 
 
First posted on September 21, 2023. Updated several times after that.
 

 

 

~ Yearning for you ~

 

"Look 'ere!"

Pushing a sizeable barrel David strolls into camp, accompanied by a wary-looking Jake. There are scarcely any survivors around at the moment, but those who are, flock around the pair. Even minor things are enough to draw everyone's attention when there's little else to pass the time.

David stops the barrel and wipes his sweaty forehead with the bottom of his shirt. Dwight has no idea how far the brit has been pushing that thing, but it can't have been easy getting it to roll on the uneven forest floor.

Felix, who rarely deigns to stay at the camp, proceeds to look over the barrel with mild interest. "Ist es wine?" He asks in a mix of English and German.

David crosses his arms over his chest and snorts. "Don' yer kin' drink beer?"

"My kind?" Felix releases a long-suffering sigh, clearly suppressing an eye-roll. "Du bist ein rassistisches schwein." ¹ Without another word, he withdraws from the group to seek out his usual spots.

"Making friends as usual, David," Meg notes drily.

"Eh, he's a blockhead."

"So what is it?"

Jake cuts in. "I don't know. I found it on one of my runs." He gestures towards David. "We thought about breaking open the lid, but if we do that we can't close it again. And it wouldn't do much good where I found it."

"Perhaps opening it here is not recommended," Adam objects. "The contents might be unsafe?"

"I figured the group should decide," Jake replies, clearly ambivalent about the issue. "It's obviously some kind of liquid, though."

David and Jake manoeuvres the barrel into an upright position and the contents sloshes audibly. Meg, fearless as usual, marches up to it. "Shouldn't there be a hole with a cork somewhere?" She rounds it. "We need a tool."

David grabs a big stone and motions for her to get back, before swinging it down on the lid - one time, two times - and then it cracks. Meg arches an eyebrow amused. "Never mind." She sniffs and then grimaces. "It's beer alright."

David looks as if he's struck gold. Maybe it brings him back to happier times. With a 'get the cups, lads!' he's soon playing the bartender, pouring generously.

With his cup filled to the brim, Dwight opts to place himself a bit further away from the others, not exactly feeling like talking. He sips on the foaming beverage and regards it slowly. It's probably no more than average in taste but seeing as it's the only beer he's had in ages he savours it as if it's the finest selection of luxury brews.

The rumour about the beer spreads and people come and go to get a taste of it. Even Meg, who clearly dislikes beer, samples it. "It's something out of the ordinary," she explains. "Might as well break up the monotony."

Much later when the excitement dies down, only a few stragglers are left whereof most are asleep or getting there. Dwight's eyes are heavy as he leans against the tree trunk, watching the fire from a distance. Only Adam and David are still awake, both drinking in silence.

David is on his third refill - if not more. He's clearly drunk, staring deep into his cup. The alcohol is probably affecting him more than what he's used to, seeing as he hasn't had the chance to drink in a really long time. And it apparently loosens up the otherwise taciturn brit's tongue.

"Ye 'ave someone at 'ome?"

Adam, who's been nursing the same drink for a while, replies stiffly. "No."

"No one? No lil' bird waitin' for ye?" When Adam merely shakes his head, David probes some more. "Wat about a bloke, eh?"

Adam glares at him.

"Amirite?" He laughs and takes another swig of beer. "Bloody hell."

"You are drunk."

"Ye, ye," he huffs. Then he turns serious. "I 'ad one. Fit lil' birdie."

That catches Dwight's attention. People rarely speak about their lives before. It's too painful.

David deflates and shakes his head. "I'm soddin' pissed." He wobbles when standing up. "Betta get some sleep." Adam looks like he's about to say something, perhaps words of comfort, but then he thinks better of it and simply bids a goodnight.

It doesn't take long before David's snoring like the others. Dwight, however, is suddenly very much awake. He's not surprised that David had a partner in his life - just look at him - but he was taken aback by the expression on his face when he spoke of her... she obviously meant a lot. That doesn't fit with Dwight's view of the rugged man.

"Still awake?" Adam's words are quiet, as to not stir the others in their sleep.

"Yeah." Dwight's feet move on their own as he plants himself on the spot David abandoned. He's cradling his cup even though it's been empty for a while. It keeps his hands occupied. "I don't have anyone waiting." He confesses quietly. "I don't know if it makes me feel relieved that I don't have someone worrying about me, or..."

Adam inclines his head in understanding. The silence stretches out between them until all of the sudden, he speaks. "I am - was - a teacher. It seems like a lifetime ago now." His eyes glaze over slightly as he revisits his memories. "I was going out with another teacher at the school. Relationships between faculty members are frowned upon, but she was about to move abroad and I was about to go on a long vacation trip, so... we kept it hidden, knowing we only had a few weeks in each other's company."

He gives off a joyless chuckle. "She most likely left the country without even realizing I had disappeared."

"Do you miss her?"

Adam mulls the question over. "No. I do not believe so. That was my old life." He manages to sound melancholy and pragmatic at the same time. "I have merely been reminiscing lately. The memories are sometimes difficult to handle, but they are not as painful as they once were."

Dwight glances over to the sleeping shape of David. "It's more painful for some than others."

"When there is nothing to chase away the shadows, you risk being consumed by them," Adam says with a heavy sigh.

Evan comes to mind. Being apart from him for so long is starting to get to Dwight and to be completely honest - it's making him miserable. It never occurred to him that someone else might be going through the same thing but simply masking their unhappiness better.

"So what can we do?" Dwight thinks aloud.

"Wait." Adam's murmur is leaden with discouragement. "All I can do... is wait."

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

~ The Doctor is in~

 

"Hey, our fearless leader!"

Sluggishly rubbing his eyes, Dwight is disoriented when he looks up to see a stretched-out hand of leather, metal and wires. His arms fall to his sides. "Ash...?" His voice is raspy with sleep.

"The one and only, baby!" The older man grins and helps him up on his feet. "It got you in your sleep, huh?"

Dwight brushes off some dust and stretches, trying to snap out of the drowsiness. Then the words register. He croaks. "We're in a trial?"

"Hey, it could've been worse!" Ash claims, adjusting his glove. "I'm here!" A cocky smile.

It's true; Ash is a good teammate to have - brave and fierce, and sometimes a bit insane. He's seen more than a fight or two in life before this place, and the experience is more than welcome - they need any advantages they can get over the killers.

Dwight scopes the vicinity, struggling to get his bearings. It's important to find out where they are and who they're up against as soon as possible, so they can formulate a plan to survive. That's when a bright yellow jacket makes him jump back.

"Calm down, kid!" Ash whistles. The older man's composure is the only thing keeping Dwight from running for the hills.

He forces his breathing under control. "Yoichi?"

The black-haired man looks apologetic, well-aware that the scare was caused by the jacket he wears. It's one of those things that will always make Dwight think of the killer who wears a similar item of clothing of the same vivid colour.

Dwight pulls himself together. "R-right." The man murmurs something that sounds like an apology - though it's impossible to know.
Yoichi barely speaks a word of English, and after some not-so-friendly mocking at the campfire over his pronunciation, he's gone back to only speaking in his own tongue.

At the campfire, the language barrier isn't much of an obstacle; there are those who speak both English and Japanese and are able to translate when needed, in a trial, however - it is. At least Yoichi appears to have absorbed a fair amount of English, to the point where he's not a total liability at trials. Or so Dwight understands it, relying on the words of the others since they are rarely teamed up together.

"So... we need a plan," Dwight mutters. "Do we know who-?" He stops short at Yoichi's suddenly distressed expression. The man gapes at something over Dwight's shoulder and turns visibly nervous, gaze flickering here and there - as if hoping to be passed over in this plan of his.

Uneasy, Dwight twists his head to the side. A large structure towers ominously in the distance. His mouth drops open slightly. "Oh. I-is it...?" He can't make himself finish the sentence.

Ash replies, "I think we can all guess who it is."

"He's right." Tapp's gravelly voice sounds over them as he joins the group. "I did some recon and the signs point to him."

Of course. His heart sinks. The Léry's Memorial Institute is his territory after all. It seems as though he rarely shows up anywhere else, and so far Dwight has not seen any other killer inhabit this realm. He doesn't like this one bit.

"C'mon kid, he's no worse than any of the other ugly fuckers!" Ash insists.

Yoichi starts shaking and Dwight can't blame him. Though he hasn't met the Doctor himself lately, several others have. Poor Quentin had to go up against him in three trials in a short span of time, and had after the last one looked at Dwight with a pale face and eyes wide with horror, claiming that the killer had turned even more vicious and ruthless - if that's even possible. The teenager had almost broken down then and there, before being led away by a concerned Nancy.

Even David, a veteran amongst the survivors by now, had sworn that something had pissed off the Doctor enough to turn the whole trial into a bloodbath - worse than anything he's seen in a long time.

Dwight would've happily avoided the killer until he cooled off, seeing as he's brutal even on his best days, and he's beginning to suspect that Yoichi hasn't only heard about the killer's mood, but also experienced it first-hand. Why else would he be so petrified?

"Are we gonna be here all day?" Ash barks impatiently, unperturbed by the fact that they're facing the Doctor. "C'mon, let's go!"

Ash doesn't fear anything; and although impressive, he's a one-man show who rarely considers all of them when he runs in guns blazing. Dwight needs to think of the whole team. Not all of them are fighters like Ash. In actuality, only Tapp comes close enough, seeing as he's a detective.

"We can use a distraction," Tapp suggests. "Decoys to keep the killer occupied and running 'round the place."

"It won't work," Dwight explains, almost wanting to sigh. Obviously, Tapp is one of those who don't listen when he talks about his observations of the killers back at camp. "The Doctor is intelligent. Sadistic. He's not easily fooled. And he won't run around chasing one person while the rest works on the generators." He looks them over. "He wants to hunt on his terms."

Ash gives a short nod of agreement. "The kid's right. We confront him directly and challenge him on his own turf."

"Yeah, that could work," Dwight agrees, "I don't think he'll back down from a challenge. Pride is his greatest weakness."

As if on cue, a maniacal laughter erupts from the building. Ash cracks his neck. "Time to play."

As the older man heads out as if he owns the place, Dwight is almost jealous at his bravery. He knows Ash is their best shot of keeping the Doctor occupied; loud and abrasive when he wants to be, he's the kind of cocky most killers can't ignore.

"Yoichi, stay here," he gestures with his hands to demonstrate his meaning, "Look for generators." Yoichi isn't very used to the interiors of the hospital and it's easy to get lost inside. It's simpler for him to stay on the grounds. The man visibly relaxes a fraction. The killer prefers to stay close to his beloved hospital, so it's safer to remain outdoors.

"Tapp, you and I should go inside and then split up to look for generators," Dwight instructs, trying to fake a confidence he doesn't have.

"Copy that."

"We need to be fast. We can't draw it out. Not with him," Dwight presses to the remaining two members of their team. "The longer it takes, the more dangerous he becomes."

With a plan in place, the first thing Yoichi does is to lose his yellow jacket fast; burying it where it can't be seen. Smart move. With it on, he lights up like a tree on Christmas Eve. The grey turtleneck underneath is a lot more inconspicuous.

They slip inside the building quietly, Tapp edging around the corridors like the trained cop he is. Dwight is just trying to keep a low profile, staying some distance behind. When they can split off in different directions, Tapp gives him a nod and creeps down the eastern corridor.

It takes a little while before Dwight finds a generator, but he doesn't worry too much as he hears one starting up somewhere in the building - probably thanks to Tapp. But as he struggles with the one he's found - it's in worse condition that usual - he starts to worry when he doesn't hear any other generators come to life.



Something's wrong.



That's when he hears Ash go down with a scream thick with rage and agony. Dwight winces in fear. That moment of distraction is enough to make him flounder over the wires, causing a fuse to blow up.

"F-fuck!"

He can't abandon the machine now - he doesn't know where the other generators are! And with Ash's gone, the Doctor won't leave them alone long enough to search in peace. With severely trembling hands he undertakes the hopeless task of fixing all the work one stupid mistake had made undone.

It's all in vain though when Tapp bolts inside the room - hand pressed against his heavily bleeding abdomen. The generator is forgotten as he watches a blast of electricity cruelly cracking down over the man's back. Then he falls - head first - down on the floor. Dwight can hear something fracture and sharply inhales.

The Doctor smoothly saunters up to the life-less body, still sizzling from the current that burned it's way through his clothes and flesh, as if he's merely out on a walk instead of in the middle of a killing-spree.

Dwight's desperately hoping that the killer won't notice him hiding behind the generator. Maybe he didn't hear someone working on it when he chased down Tapp?

The man's forcefully opened-wide eyes twitch, and that last hope dies when he turns around, his blood-stained doctor's coat swirling at the movement. Dwight scrambles backwards in an attempt to get away, but there's nowhere to go. There are no windows, no other doors, only the one exit - blocked by the killer.

He's hoping that Ash will rush inside, miraculously having survived earlier; or that Tapp will jump up, merely being badly stunned by the blast. He's even hoping that Yoichi will somehow turn up, even though he knows how unlikely that is.

To his surprise, the Doctor doesn't attack him immediately. Instead, the killer watches him with a sort of detached curiosity. It's almost more terrifying.

Arms covered in horrific burns, bare in that armless once-white coat, move with purpose as they glide behind the killer's own head. Dwight can't drag his eyes away from the miscoloured exposed flesh, skin flaking off at places. He's never had opportunity to look at the Doctor this closely before. His horrendous appearance is enough to want to make him gag, but still he can't stop staring.

A clinking sound of metal hitting the floor, and Dwight blinks a couple of times. He glances down and doesn't really understand what he's seeing. What is that?

A loud, scratchy cackling interrupts his musings and grabs his attention straight away. Something is off with the killer's face - more than usual, that is. It takes him just a second or two to work out what that is. The contraption around his mouth, the device that holds it open, it's... gone. He removed it.

A dull but sophisticated voice lashes the air like a whip. "You." His lips curl into a sneer. "Evan's boy."

Dwight can only gawk at the killer, struck dumb by the situation.

He makes a contemplating sound. "It will be quick."

 

 

 

 

 

The Doctor was true to his word.

It was quick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

But not painless.

 

 

***************************

 

 

Notes:

Translation: 1. You are a racist pig. Back

 

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

Yearning for you // The Doctor is in
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash, Nancy, Steve, Yui, Felix, Yun-Jin, Zarina, Élodie, Jonah, Yoichi.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion, the Spirit, the Plague, Ghost Face, the Oni, the Trickster, the Blight.

Chapter 9: Meeting Him Again

Notes:

 
 
First posted on October 25, 2023. Updated several times after that.
 

 

The Doctor knows Evan.





Dwight never considered the possibility of the killers knowing each other. He imagined them as lone wolves - more likely to lash out and kill each other on sight than converse. On the other hand, maybe he isn't as good at analysing the killers as he makes himself out to be.
He was wrong about Evan, wasn't he? The impression of the man being a mindless, bloodthirsty monster is far from how he sees him today.

Also, the Doctor speaks! And not only that, but he can string sentences together - something Evan seems incapable of doing - which so far makes that two killers able to do something no one at the camp thought possible.

It makes him wonder - can all of them talk?

But would the killers really have kept silent all this time if that's the case? When it comes to some of them, like the Legion, Dwight is sure he wouldn't. Anger and frustration comes off the masked killer in waves, and Dwight can easily imagine him taunting them as he hunts, or swearing up a storm when hit with a pallet. Someone like the Legion isn't silent by choice.

So what makes the Doctor and Evan so special? Can it be because they have been here the longest? Thinking back, Dwight realizes that it would mean that the Wraith and the man with the chainsaw would be able to speak as well if that's the case.

Can it be because the Doctor and Evan know each other? And how do they know each other?

Seeing as the killers obviously aren't the loners Dwight thought they were, they might have friendships and other relationships with each other.

Are Evan and the Doctor... friends?

They know each other well enough to be on first-name basis, at least. Dwight furrows his brow. Does the Doctor have a name as well? Does Evan know it? And why does it matter if that's the case? Dwight knows the name of all of the people at the campfire. Is it so impossible that the killers would talk and share things amongst themselves? And what have Evan shared?

The Doctor called Dwight 'Evan's boy' - as if their thing is out in the open. His face heats up. Have Evan told him? Or have he seen them? Even worse - do all of the killers know?

It shouldn't matter, he tells himself sternly. But he can't help but imagine the killers sitting by their own campfire, laughing as Evan tells them how Dwight has behaved around him, what they've done -

The fact is; he doesn't know Evan. The man never told him about 'the fog', about knowing the Doctor, about the other killers being able to speak. Dwight doesn't know what secrets the man keeps from him.

A thousand thoughts plague him but no answers are forthcoming. After a while, his head is starting to hurt. With heavy feet, he trudges into the clearing. Tapp is nowhere to be seen, but his other teammates are there. Yoichi's yellow jacket has been returned to him and the vivid colour immediately draws Dwight's attention. That's how he notices the man is shivering, arms thrown around himself in a comforting sort of gesture.

Dwight glances over to Ash who gives a look in reply that he can't really decipher. But he doesn't have to, because that's when Claudette dashes out from behind the trees with Adam in tow.
Ash gives them a relieved nod, as if he's been waiting for them to take over. Did Tapp run off to find them? Is that why he's not here?

Claudette hugs Yoichi and speaks in a low voice with the shaken man. He looks terrified and Dwight doesn't blame him. He's still rather new, at least compared to the rest of them, and they did face the Doctor after all.



"It will be quick."



The Doctor is ruthless - more so than ever lately, but with Dwight he chose not to be. Did he let him off easy because he knows about him and Evan? But why would he care about that? Isn't it more likely that that knowledge would cause the other killers to be even more brutal?

Maybe if the two killers really are friends Evan asked the Doctor to go easy on him? But why now, though? The Doctor has never treated him any differently before.

Adam's voice is full of concern as he watches Claudette comforting their friend. "What happened?"

It's a testament to how screwed-up people become after spending so much time in this hellhole, that a trial where a monster hunts and kills them isn't considered to be enough to put someone in Yoichi's state.

"The Doctor was vicious," Dwight replies simply.

Adam must've heard about the killer's mood lately because he simply nods. "I see."

Dwight feels like he's intruding when Adam crowds closer to Yoichi as well. The three of them are often seen hanging out together and seem rather close, so it figures that they would come to comfort and support him. A stab of something akin to envy hits him. It's clear that he's not needed here, and probably not wanted either, seeing how quickly the three form their own little bubble.

He decides to take a walk to allow them some privacy.

But he can't walk away from his thoughts, though. Even worse is, he misses Evan.

 

 

***************************

 

 

~ Meeting him again ~

 

The metal gleams in the reflective light of the full moon; dozens of nasty spikes extending towards the dusky sky - waiting for a victim to gouge and tear into.

The trap might as well be a lover's gift in Dwight's eyes; for all that it raises his pulse and makes his stomach flutter with excitement. He can't even find it in himself to berate himself for being happy to see a killer. It's Evan, after all!

But then his happiness is crushed like a insect beneath a stone.

With him in the trial is Steve, Zarina and... Jane. He's been lucky enough to not have been paired up with her for many trials now, instead being jumbled together with the more newly added survivors. But now, when he finally gets to see Evan again, of course she's here to destroy it. He wants to scream out loud.

When Jane sees the trap her eyes immediately squints in suspicion. She doesn't even try to hide her distrust when she looks at Dwight, obviously wanting him to know that she's going to keep an eye on him.

Zarina goes off to do her own thing without even a 'hello'. No one appears surprised. She's rarely at the campfire and Dwight isn't even sure if she seeks out anyone's company or if she just keeps to herself all the time out of trials. At least she does attempt to repair generators quickly, if only to save herself.

Dwight doesn't know much about Steve but the youth reminds him a bit of Quentin. "So, what should we do?" The teenager asks, looking to Dwight for leadership. Jane huffs and crosses her arms, but she doesn't leave. Her will to stay alive outweighs her mistrust.

Dwight is distracted and desperate to find Evan, but he knows he can't let his teammates down. He rattles off a plan that sounds good to his ears, although he can feel his heart is not in it. Thankfully, Steve accepts it without a word. He's never been so grateful to see the back of the teenager. Now Dwight can search for Evan, although he needs to do so covertly.

He pretends to be looking for a generator and Jane hovers nearby, following at a distance. He tries to ignore her but her presence means that when he suddenly stumbles on a generator he's forced to start repairs on it - doing anything else would be too suspicious.

His irritation rises when she joins him on the opposite side to speed up the repairs. Why can't she just leave him alone?

"We don't need two people on one generator. We have to split up," he chastises, annoyed. It's probably preferable to stay in pairs when up against the Trapper, so if one is caught in a trap the other can help, but he has no interest in telling her that.

"We should work together, isn’t that what Adam said?" She snarks.

His hands shake with anger when remembering their fight. It takes only a moment of distraction to lose his grip on the wires.

BANG.

"What did you do?" Jane spits angrily, flying up on her feet.

Fuck. There's no way Evan didn't hear that, no way he won't be coming this way. And with Jane here, that can turn catastrophic.

There's only one thing he can do. He takes up where he left off, desperate to finish the repairs. "How about you help instead?" He grits his teeth in frustration. If they are quick enough, maybe they can finish it and he can -



It's quiet. Too quiet.



He doesn't hear Jane tinkering with the machine and she hasn't said a word in response. He looks up, wondering if she's just up and left. But no, she's still there. "What are you-?" He follows her stare and can see a huge silhouette against the moon in the distance.

Jane starts running the opposite direction and Dwight hesitates a few seconds before he does the same. He wants nothing else than to stay, but he can't risk anything happening between them with Jane close enough to see or hear. He just hopes that Evan won't take it the wrong way.

Dwight is so distracted that he fails to avoid the trap that Jane easily runs around. His scream is loud enough to probably alert his whole team.

Fuck it hurts so god damn much!

He struggles to sit up, pushing through the pain. Jane is frozen in shock, making no move to help him. "Y-you'll be alright," she stammers, voice thick with uncertainty and fear. She takes a step back. And another. Then she runs off.

What the fuck.

He doesn't have time to yell at her or even try to get out of the trap, when a large shadow creeps over him. He throws a glance over his shoulder, careful not to move too much. Evan is standing behind him, hands relaxed by his sides. Dwight would've been happy at the sight, if his leg didn't hurt so much!

The man sits down on his hunches and very carefully removes the trap, obviously doing his best to cause as little additional pain as possible. With his leg free, Dwight clumsily turns on his back.

"Evan..." He wants to curl closer and forget their circumstances, but he stops himself. With Jane long gone and the others nowhere in sight, this might be their only chance to speak. "Jane - the woman who ran off, she - she -" Evan tilts his head slightly, as if to show he's listening. "She suspects, she thinks that-" he swallows. What? That they have a relationship? That they're in league with each other?

Evan waits for him to continue, but he can't find the words to explain. When he tires of waiting, he snakes a massive arm around his back and another underneath his legs. Then Dwight's being gently lifted up into the air. If he had any blood to spare it probably would've rushed to his cheeks at being carried bridal style.

Safe in those powerful arms, Dwight allows himself to relax. Evan's arms are steady and warm around him and he's barely being jostled at all, the man still clearly cautious. Heart clenching with an emotion he doesn't want to analyse, he presses his face into the man's shoulder, the skin hot at the touch. He can feel the vibration of a low, pleased rumble in response.

He doesn't even care where they're going; just wanting to enjoy the moment, but the pain makes itself known again. He grunts and the arms around him stiffen.

Among some trees, hidden from prying eyes, Evan sets him down on the ground. Dwight bites down on a pained whimper. Evan bends down, lowering himself enough to be able to reach Dwight's uninjured leg, and starts tearing at the pant leg.

"W-what are you-?"

The ripped off piece of fabric is used as a make-shift tourniquet as the man starts tying it above the wound to stem the bleeding. Dwight thinks back to that meeting between them a long time ago when they were in a similar situation - Dwight bleeding out with Evan looming over him. They've come a long way.

"I missed you."

The truth is out before he can even think of the implication. He blames his carelessness on the blood loss. Those large hands still for a moment, as if surprised. He puts his hands on top of Evan's. "I... need to die this trial."

He'd hoped they would be able to have some time together but with Jane here... Looking down at his injured leg he proceeds to stretch out a hand towards the half-fastened tourniquet. A hand grabs him, a bit rougher than he's used to. "No."

Surprised at the growl, he stammers. "I-I have to-"

Evan's other hand touches his cheek and this time, knowing that it's his own blood, he doesn't mind the red streak it lefts behind. He leans heavily into it, sighing. He lets them have a moment longer, not wanting it to end. But then he covers the hand with his own, pressing down gently. "I have to. She-they're suspicious about the fact that you always let me live."

Evan reluctantly removes one hand, but not the one resting on his cheek. "Will... will you help me?" He's a coward. He knows it. Even such a small thing as removing the tourniquet he's too craven to do himself.

There's no telling what goes on behind that mask, but the hesitation is brief. Dwight's fear-laced eyes follow the movement until Evan forces him to instead meet his own gaze, those brown, warm orbs are a comfort. The pressure around his leg gradually eases up until it's gone.

As the strength drains from his body and he's unable to keep upright on his own, strong arms hold him.



He bleeds out in Evan's embrace.

 

 

***************************

 

 

Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

Meeting him again
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash, Nancy, Steve, Yui, Felix, Yun-Jin, Zarina, Élodie, Jonah, Yoichi.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion, the Spirit, the Plague, Ghost Face, the Oni, the Trickster, the Blight.

Chapter 10: Going Through The Fog

Notes:

 
 
First posted on November 2, 2023. Updated several times after that.
 

No one's waiting for him when he gets back. It's unexpected, although not completely unheard of.

Seeing as the exit for trials is so close by, most use the camp as a kind of touch-down point to swap news, offer knowledge and check up on survivors you rarely come across; meaning that there's typically a small group of them hanging around.
But as time moved on many of them have drifted further out to the edges of the forest, barely to be seen at all outside of trials. Felix, for example. And Jeff. Dwight is the sole person who's installed himself at camp, the only one that can be counted on to more or less always be there.

Today, however, he's too wound up to stay put. He roams aimlessly until stumbling upon Claudette sitting by the stream cleaning and sorting herbs, most likely recently provided by Jake or Meg, nimble hands working in an sure and practiced way.

"Dwight?" A warm smile spreads across her face. "How nice to see you!"

"Nice to see you too."

"I never see you out and about." She sloppily dries her hands on a piece of cloth. "Something going on?"

Her demeanour shows no hint of suspicion or challenge, yet the need to justify himself is overwhelming. An idea suddenly pops up in his mind, supplying him with a purpose. "I'm looking for Adam. Do you know where he is?"

"Right now? No. But I know his usual haunts. I can give you directions, if you'd like." Good old Claudette. She doesn't probe him about his business with the man. Doesn't demand answers he isn't able or willing to give.

"That'd be great."

Out of the dozen spots she provided him with, he tracks the man down at the fourth one. It's true that Dwight is no explorer, never having had any interest or cause to traverse their environment, but finding one's way isn't necessarily difficult to do if one knows what to look for.
The forest has certain unchangeable characteristics one can easily spot as well as some survivors having made markers of their own.

Adam is alone, apparently working on additions to a shelter he's made of branches and leaves. Dwight didn't even know that people were building things out here. What else has he missed, being stuck at the camp all the time?

"Dwight! What a surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Adam probes, still polite as ever but with a note of intrigue in his voice.

"The fog." He jumps straight to the point. "How does it work? You told me once that the killers can't go through." He licks his dry lips. "Can we?"

Adam studies him for a moment, face revealing nothing. "Why would a survivor want to go through the fog?" It's not a no.

"If one would like to... see a killer, is that possible?"

The question grants him a long look. "If one can move through the fog, it would indeed be possible," Adam concurs casually.

They're skirting around the subject, not wanting to give ammunition to the other to be used against them later. He gets it. Adam has already given away more than he's probably comfortable with, and now it's time for Dwight to take a leap of faith. "I want to meet someone. A specific someone." He takes a deep inhale. "Outside of trials. If there's a way-"

"There is," Adam confirms. He appears more at ease. "There is this... talisman of sorts."

Dwight leans forward when he takes something out of his pocket. It's round, made of some kind of metal, resembling a sizeable coin. It appears rather ordinary at a quick examination.

"If you wear this on your person when you pass through the fog whilst thinking of the one you want to meet, you will find yourself in their presence."

Dwight frowns dubiously at the coin. Is it really that simple? He's got nothing to lose, he supposes. And if this is a chance to see Evan outside of trials, he's willing to try it.

"Shall we?"

Trekking through the forest, Adam points out markers to make sure Dwight can find his way back. This time around he's not as nervous and deep in his own thoughts, so it's easier to memorize. When they stand by the tree again, it's not as uncanny and ominous as he recalls it being.

The coin lies in the palm of his hand. He gives it one last look before closing his fist around it. Here goes nothing!

He doesn't know what he expected, but there's no bright light or portal or anything mysterious or magical. Looking over his shoulder he can still see the small tree and fog. Disappointment settles in his stomach. "Uh, I don't think it worked -" Wait, the trees look a bit different, don't they? A bit taller? "Adam? Are you there?"

Did he really cross over?

There's no sign of Evan though - can he still be in the trial? He walks on, seeing as he doesn't really have much of a choice. According to Adam, he shouldn't have to do anything more than think of Evan, and he should appear. He thinks of the man as intensely as he can, hoping it will lead Dwight to him.

A deep clang resonates through the forest. One. Two. Three times. It's the sound metal emits when being struck.

Following it, he soon finds himself outside the forest. He blinks shocked. He didn't even think there was an outside except in trials. A large, overgrown meadow spreads out at his feet. Beyond it, a small building.

The door is open.

It takes much less time that he would've thought before he stands outside. The building is a one-story, tiny cottage more than anything else. There's smoke coming from a chimney and he can feel heat pouring out the wooden structure. The sound comes from within, and it's steady like the beating of a heart - though not Dwight's, who is hammering hard against his rib case.

He takes a breath, screwing his eyes shut for a moment.

Peeking inside, he sees Evan's huge form from behind. He's not wearing a stitch of clothing above his hips, his muscled upper body covered in a sheen of sweat that glisten in the weak light. Silvery faded scars from burns and cuts litter his back. There are straps around his wide waist and neck, indicating that he's wearing an blacksmith's apron.

The cottage only appears to have the one room and Evan takes up most of the confined area as he stands in front of the forge, working on the metal laid out on his anvil. The hammer is massive and the sound when it strikes causes vibrations in Dwight's chest. His large bulging bicep flex with the effort of wielding the tool and Dwight is mesmerized. He leans forward to get a better look, putting down a foot on the floor -

Squeak.

The arm halts in the air. He lowers the hammer and turns his head slightly to the side, as if acknowledging his presence.

Should... should he walk up to him? What if he's upset that Dwight is invading his privacy? Maybe he should've thought this through, but it's too late for that now. Dwight takes a deep breath and closes the distance between them. 

The heat coming from the hearth is almost suffocating, making breathing slightly less comfortable. Up close like this, he can see that the man isn't wearing his mask. Deciding to give him the option of continuing to hide his face, Dwight stays behind him. "Uh, hi."

The man doesn't speak and Dwight is beginning to fear that he's not welcome at all. "I... I just wanted-" It hasn't even been a day since he died in the man's embrace, confident enough to sacrifice himself, and now he can't even get the words out that he wants to say?

Evan doesn't react at all as Dwight takes another deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "D-do you want me to go?"

A headshake.

Relief flood him at the sight. "In that case... will you look at me?"

Dwight is both excited and nervous when he slowly turns around. His facial features are rough; a sharp jawline, thick eyebrows, several scars and a large crooked nose that looks like it's been broken one too many times. He has the appearance of an old-timey boxer.

It's a pleasant surprise that he looks normal, although he would've settled for almost anything as long as it's not horrendous-looking like the Blight or something. Sure, he'll never grace the cover of any fashion magazines, but neither will Dwight.

Evan is not looking at him, gaze aimed to the side. "Evan...?" The large man stiffens and Dwight doesn't understand what's wrong. Maybe he's on edge because he doesn't know how to act when they're outside of a trial?

He reaches out, giving the man ample time to stop him if he doesn't want to be touched, and those brown orbs turn to watch him cautiously. When his hand connects with Evan's naked cheek for the first time, the man shuts his eyes with a pained expression, as if the mere human contact is enough to undo him.

"Evan," he repeats softly.

He moves his head slightly, so his scarred lips touch him. There's a brief, tiny pressure, like a kiss, against his palm. "Dwight."

He inhales loudly and all thoughts fly out of his head as he stands on his tiptoes, one hand curling around the man's head to tilt it down enough to allow him to capture Evan's mouth with his. Dry lips press against each other and Dwight can feel how the hot, large body turns rigid with surprise. "Sorry," he murmurs against his lips. "I shouldn't -"

An arm sneaks around him, pulling him closer, crushing him against Evan's solid body. Dwight melt into the embrace with a moan, and Evan takes the opportunity to catch the sound with his mouth. Dwight leans his head to the side, to allow better access and slides his tongue along the seam of the man's mouth.  

When they part, they're both breathing heavier. It's the first time they've kissed and Dwight can easily become addicted to it. "More?"

Arousal pools in his stomach when Evan growls in response. Their lips meet again and he never wants the kiss to end. His hands eagerly roam those broad shoulders, grabbing and caressing the moist skin. He tries to speak, but Evan's tongue delves deeper into his wet, willing mouth, and he can only moan. "Mmm..."

In the short moment they stop for air, Dwight tugs at the apron covering Evan's torso. "Remove this. Please." If he weren't so horny after being without his touch for so long, he probably would've blushed at being so forward. It's not like he's some shy maiden, but he and Evan barely know each other. He's not used to being bossy with someone who's practically a stranger.

All of that doesn't matter right now, though. He just needs to touch and be touched in return.

Maybe Evan's just as desperate, because the apron flies off quickly and then he's back to devouring Dwight's lips. Damn, he's a good kisser. In their first encounter he had come across as a bit inexperienced but there's no trace of that now. He's expertly taking charge, liquefying Dwight's insides with intense desire.

Dwight fondles the newly revealed skin, palms gliding over large, solid pecs. Experimentally brushing over a nipple doesn't get much of a response but not everyone is sensitive there. He makes his way down his sides, touching the flesh, memorizing every inch. Dwight's breath is stolen by Evan's passionate kissing and it's difficult to concentrate when his mind is getting so fuzzy.

Head tilted backwards to an almost uncomfortable degree to accommodate the taller man, he can't see the path his hands take, only feel it. As Evan nips his lower lip, his hand jerks in reply, nails shallowly scratching flesh. He doesn't have much nails to speak of, seeing as he has the bad habit of biting them, but the fingertip scraping over a poor nipple drags a low groan out of Evan. Maybe he is sensitive there, after all.

Dwight is more than half-hard at this point, and as closely as they are pressed together, he knows that he's not the only one.

"Can I have you?" Dwight asks.

Evan pulls back enough to meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated with lust, but Dwight can discern his hesitation. Are they moving too fast? Or might it be that Evan prefers it the other way around? To be completely honest, Dwight would've preferred to be the one to take it, so to speak, but not now. Not their first time together.

If Evan doesn't want to go further, Dwight won't push. "It's okay, we don't have to-"

He pulls back even further and Dwight feels cold without those large arms around him. He's starting to regret ever breaching the subject, when big, scarred hands fumbles with the belt and unbuckles it, allowing Evan's last item of clothing fall to the floor. Now free from its confinement, his stiff member bobs into the air.

Dwight doesn't think twice about it, but sinks down on his knees. He captures Evan's gaze before taking the tip into his mouth. A surprised moan slips out above him. He's not very fond of performing blowjobs, but he wants to make Evan feel good. It's always about Dwight's pleasure when they get together (with the exception from the time in the basement) and it has to change. He wants Evan driven to the edge, wanton and desperate for release.

A hand curves behind his head, gently holding him as the length sinks deeper into his mouth, saliva easing the way. He pulls back an inch and presses forward, remembering the tactic he used last time. Evan must be pent up because his dick is twitching as it leaks copiously into the warm cavern that surrounds it.

Dwight's ready to allow him to come down his throat when the man all of the sudden pulls out. He's staring down at him, chest heaving.

"Evan...?"

"More." His eyes roam over Dwight's clothed body.

Still confused, he gets on his feet. "What do you want?"

It's rare see such a huge, intimidating man suddenly behaving bashfully, but there's no other way to describe it. His facial expression changes to that of frustration, and it seems as though he's about to give up on whatever he had in mind. "Do you want me... to touch you somewhere else?"

His guess must've hit bull's eye, because there's a soft blush on the man's cheeks. But he still looks uncomfortable at the same time.
Is he... a virgin? It doesn't seem very likely the way he kiss and how he's made Dwight come easily several times before, but maybe he's not experienced at being the bottom when having sex?

Although Dwight was the one who most often wound up the top with partners in the past, he's never been with an inexperienced bottom and never had to be the one to introduce a partner to that position.

This is not what he was expecting when he crossed over the fog!

He remembers how painful and drawn-out and frankly embarrassing his first time bottoming was. If he's going to be anyone's first, he has to make sure it goes as smoothly as possible. "We'll take it slow," Dwight says, faking confidence he's not feeling right now.

He looks around the room, only spotting a cluttered table. It would've been easier if the man could lie down, but he'll take what he can get. Evan follows his line of sight.

"Will you... turn around for me?"

Completely naked, save for his shoes, the man moves over to the table. He puts his hands on the rough surface, leaning forward a little bit, putting more of his weight on his arms. Dwight is now in a prominent position to stare at the swell of the ass put in front of him; those firm globes he'd love to stick his dick in between. He groans, pressing a hand between his legs, trying to alleviate some of the need.

He grabs those perfect asscheeks with both hands, putting that hole on display. That's when he realizes that they're gonna need lube or this will never work. "Do you have... something we can use?" A moment of silence. "To... lubricate?"

The man grunts and grabs a jar from the table. When Dwight pops it open, he recognizes the smell of some kind of oil. When he pours out some on his fingers, it's dark and resembles motor oil - hopefully, it's not.

It's been a while since he had to stretch someone open, but he knows to take it slow. He drips oil between the man's spread asscheeks and it trails down to his balls, coating them and making them glisten. He takes shallow breathes, overcome with arousal at the sigh. With wet fingers, he circles the rim carefully. Evan stiffens under his touch, most likely preparing himself for the intrusion, but Dwight is not nearly there yet. He continues to rub around the sensitive area with his fingers, pressing his thumb against the hole without breaching it.

Dwight sways forward, almost unable to keep still, and he kisses whatever part of the man's back he can reach with his mouth. Evan relaxes at the treatment and spreads his legs as wide as they can go - which in truth isn't all that much because he's not very flexible - but it's enough to get the message across - stop teasing and get on with it!

The position they're in is not optimal, but Dwight makes do. The tip of his finger dips inside, and it's so tight it's bordering on painful. "Relax a bit," Dwight murmurs.

When the grip on his finger loosens up, he draws it back a bit and slowly thrusts it further in. Inch by inch he feeds his finger inside, adding more oil when needed to make it easier to take. Dwight works him open on his finger with an unhurried pace, letting him get used to the sensation of being penetrated.

Evan doesn't make much noise, and Dwight knows that he has to get further inside to reach the prostate. He pulls out, drenching two fingers with oil. He's awarded with a low grunt when both digits enters, and Evan starts to tense up again. His hole clings to Dwight's fingers and he can easily imagine it being his dick instead.

Dwight sits down on his hunches, getting a better view and access. He brings his free hand between those strong, muscular thighs, gently reaching for his balls. They're warm to the touch and heavy, indicating that he's stored up a lot of semen. Doesn't he masturbate?

Fondling his balls softens him up enough that Dwight can gently prod the inner walls with his other hand in search for that special spot without having his fingers crushed. Stumbling upon a smooth soft area, he gives it a careful nudge. Evan lurches forward, as if trying to get away. He was about to ask if he was okay when the man thrusts his ass back against Dwight with a shaky exhale. He touches the spot again and again, forcing out gruff moans.

Evan lowers himself down on his elbows, as if his arms can't keep him upright anymore. His head hangs down, almost lying on the table, sweat pouring down his back and neck. He starts grinding back on Dwight's fingers and breathing heavier. The squeeze is no longer painful, he's so stretched already. Fuck, he looks sexy like this.

He'd love to pull out his dick and glide into that inviting hole twitching around him, but he doesn't want to rush things. Evan's new at this and he doesn't want to scare him off. Frankly, this whole thing with having sex with Evan and not expecting to be murdered is pretty new as well. They can afford to take one step at a time. Especially now when they can see each other with the help of the amulet.

Evan moves suddenly and Dwight follows the movement without stopping thrusting his fingers. He's thrusting forward, arm jerking violently, and Dwight knows exactly what he's doing. He briefly shuts his eyes, wishing he could see it. In retaliation for denying him the view, Dwight stabs the prostate hard with his fingers, hitting and grinding against that spot again and again without mercy.

Those thick, muscular things shake minutely and tense up, a loud growl as Evan is hurled towards an orgasm.

He carefully pulls out his fingers and hears a groan from the man beneath him. He gets up from the floor and takes a few steps. "You okay?" Maybe it's a stupid question, seeing as there's a pool of cum on the floor, but Dwight wants to make sure it was a good experience, wanting to make sure if he'll let him do it again someday.

Evan only takes a couple of seconds before he rises to his full height and he grunts in response. Dwight's own erection makes itself known again. He was so busy getting Evan to his climax that he neglected himself. It feels too awkward to pull himself out and jerk off now so he grits his teeth, willing it to go down.

Dwight is pulled close and a hand pushed his head to rest on the man's sweaty chest. He can hear a slightly elevated heart beat and it feels intimate and nice, but then Evan presses down a hand on the bulge in his jeans. Even with two layers of clothing in the way the caress is so forceful that it feels unbelievable. Dwight moans and his stiff member pulses and he knows it won't be long - he's too keyed up already.

He didn't expect a growled "Dwight" to be what sends him over the edge though.

Completely spent, Dwight can barely keep on his feet. He huffs with a certain satisfaction. "I'm dead." Eyes widen when he realizes what he just said and how inappropriate that is.

The choked-off sound coming from Evan might be a laugh. Dwight doesn't even have the energy to blush or apologize for ruining the mood. He's just happy that Evan is still holding him, or he might've fallen to the ground.

After a minute or two, they pull apart. Dwight grimaces at the feeling of sticky cum cooling in his underwear. "This is becoming a habit," he mutters to himself.

Evan's about to put his clothes back on, when he becomes motionless and tilts his head, as if listening to something. With furrowed brows he looks at Dwight. "You..." He's obviously struggling with the words. "Go."

It doesn't sound like a dismissal, but more in the vein of a warning. Evan puts on his clothes with jerky motions, grabbing something from the wall. When he turns towards Dwight, he sees a cleaver in one hand and the famed mask in the other. He looks conflicted for a moment but then puts on his mask. Dwight is reminded of the fact that he just finger-fucked and cuddled with a killer. He's really reached the bottom, hasn't he?

"Y-yeah. Sure... I'll... go." The atmosphere is uncomfortable and Dwight just wants to get out of there. He's stopped before he can get through the door. He... isn't about to get stabbed, is he?

Evan takes his hand. Something cold and heavy drops into his palm. Looking down, he sees a coin. A warmth spreads through his body as he turns it over. It's similar to Adam's. To make sure, he pulls it out. "Are they the same?"

Even with the mask on, he can see the dark look the man gives the other coin. "No." His tone does not allow any argument.

"Can I use this to see you?" A nod. He stands on his toes and kisses the exposed flesh between the mask and his ear. "I'll only use yours," he promises.

Evan's whole body relaxes.

 

 

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When Dwight comes back to the campfire (his pants thankfully made dry after passing through the fog again) there's a crowd talking in agitated voices. "What's going on?" He asks Kate, who's closest.

She half-turns and blinks in surprise. "There you are! Everyone's been looking for you."

"Uh, why?"

The circle of people opens as more and more spots him. In the middle are Ace, Meg, Steve and Zarina. "Dwight! Thank God!" Meg calls out with relief. He stares at her and then around at the others. "We thought you might be gone as well."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know?" Kate asks, arms crossing over her chest. "They say Jane's gone."

"What do you mean gone?"

"She didn't return from trial," Ace cuts in sharply. 

"What...?"

Zarina's frustration is clear when she opens her mouth. "Dwight's back and Jane will probably turn up. I'm going." Ace gives her an irritated glare, but she just levels him with a sharp look.

"I don't know if I can be of any more help," Steve says quietly. "Zarina and I told you guys all we know. To my knowledge, everyone survived except Dwight." Steve turns to him, adding for his benefit; "I was injured by a trap and moving really slow. When I finally passed through the gates, I thought I was the last one." He lowers his gaze in guilt. "I only found out afterwards that wasn't the case."

Dwight's having a hard time making sense of what's being said, but Steve continues without waiting for an reply, this time turned towards the others. "But like I said, the Trapper was seriously pissed off. He hunted Jane most of the trial. He probably did something."

Evan was pissed off?

"Dwight, did you see Jane after the trial?" Meg questions.

"N-no. But I mean... m-maybe she just took a walk, like I did?"

"No." Everyone looks at Ace. "She wouldn't just take a walk."

"Typically, no." Jake stands on the outskirts of the circle, not appearing very invested in the discussion. "But neither would Dwight."

"I don't get it... why do you think something happened to her?"

Meg answers before Ace has the chance to. "Zarina opened the gates in your trial. She told us that she ran through first. Jake came off a second trial against the Woman in White at the same time."

"Mm. Zarina didn't stay. When Steve came through I was still waiting for my team to get out, so we talked for a bit. Later, I was going for a run when Meg asked me if I'd seen you."

"That's when we talked to Steve and Zarina," Meg continues. "They said you died early on, so you would've been the first one back. You usually never leave camp, but you were gone. And neither Steve nor Zarina knew if Jane died or got out. With both of you missing after being in the same trial, we got worried."

There's no sight of Adam or Claudette in the crowd, both of whom could've easily put to rest any concern regarding Dwight's whereabouts. Clearly, they haven't been talking to everyone. So is this panic really warranted? And really, have he been gone that long that they felt the need to send out a search party?

All of the sudden Ace throws out; "Where were you?"

Dwight whips around in shock. What the hell? He never thought he would need some kind of alibi - no one's ever taken notice of him before. "I... like I said, I took a walk. I just wanted to get away for a while."

"Get away from what?"

Oh my god, he really can't do anything right, can he? Whatever he does, he will be suspected of something. "I-I just died-"

"Against the killer you're so good at surviving?"

"What's your problem?" Nea spits.

Ace ignores her. "How did you die?"

"Fucked to death by the Easter Bunny," Nea snarls, aggression unmistakable. "What's it to you?"

"You don't think it's odd that the guy everyone claims is the best at surviving the Trapper, gets downed first in a trial where Jane ends up disappearing?"

"Stop it!" Meg growls, before Nea can say something acidly in return. "Even if you don't believe Dwight, Zarina and Steve told the same story. They saw Jane last. And they don't know what happened to her."

Ace doesn't look particularly happy, but does quiet down. "She'll show up," Kate says, her words of comfort an attempt to soothe the agitated atmosphere. "The trial is over, so she has to be here somewhere."

"I can do another run," Jake offers, though he looks less than thrilled.

"Me too," Meg volunteers.

Ace looks them over with furrowed brows, before sitting down dejected.

Dwight's pissed at what Jane did in trial, abandoning him to the mercy of a killer, but he never wanted her to disappear.

 

 

What's going on?

 

 

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Notes:

DISCLAIMER!

So I've gotten some comments about Evan being a bottom - some liking it more than others. I never thought that part would garner any reaction at all, so I was a bit unprepared. I don't mind at all, but I thought I might explain my headcanon in this story for those who are interested. 😊

Evan is not really a "bottom" in this story. I see him as more or less willing to do whatever Dwight wants because he likes him. If Dwight wants to act the top, he'll let him. As long as Dwight is happy.

I see Dwight as a switch that prefers to bottom. But Evan is huge and strong, not able to communicate properly, they barely know each other, and Dwight doesn't really feel comfortable putting himself in a vulnerable situation with someone who can easily harm him physically - without even meaning to.

Also, since apparently you guys are not mindreaders (who knew!?) I thought I might add why Evan acts differently this time when they're intimate compared to before.
So in this story, Evan has only ever had sex with women before. He comes from another time where being gay was something shameful (unfortunately, that still holds true in many places today) and he couldn't act on his attraction to men.
To hide his preferences, he dated women. So that's why he's comfortable and confident with some parts of being intimate, like kissing (because kissing a man or a woman is not that different) but unsure when it comes to other parts he has very little or no experience in.

I'm so happy that people are reading this story and caring enough to leave comments, so please continue to do so! Thank you so much for reading. 😊

Chapter 11: Jane's Chapter

Notes:

Introducing: Jane's chapter!

 

First posted on February 7, 2024.
 

 

 

~ Before Everything Fell Apart ~

 

 

 

Dark eyes. A polite but distant smile.



“We’re not actually related.”



Gasps and murmurs spread through the audience. The camera focuses on Jane, the red light furiously blinking, as it records her genuine shock. While she fumbles for a reply, the beautiful woman, her mother, leans back in the comfortable cream-coloured chair, giving off an air of empathy and sincerity.

Jane grits her teeth at the boldfaced lie. How can she sit there and claim not to be her mother? Claim to not have been the one who bore her?

The people in the audience is shocked, some nod sagely, as if they already suspected as much, while others look to Jane, their hostess, for an explanation. Is she truly the only one who can see through the woman's act? She doesn’t even know Loretta, having been abandoned as a baby, but still the charade is obvious. A famous actress she might be, but she's not skilled enough to hide her true feelings.

Is this the reason she agreed to star in the show - to destroy her daughter's reputation by painting her as a liar? Wasn't it enough to abandon her husband and baby to pursue her career and lavish lifestyle? Was she now determined to wreck what Jane had managed to build from the ruins she left behind?

Loretta is looking at her, seemingly unaware of the many eyes glued to their every movement, ears straining to catch any word escaping their mouth; but Jane knows that she is sharply cognizant of everyone's attention. She is an actress - and this is her stage.

 

 

***************************

 

 

~ New Surroundings ~

 

Thoughts of her father plague her, as they often do. They must've found her car by now - empty. And he has to know that she's gone.
Does he think she's been kidnapped? Or that she drowned in the water they must've fished up the car from?

She can imagine what some might believe - that she ran away, perhaps took her own life, after that humiliating interview.

They don't know her. They don't know what she's been through, what she's going through, and still remaining strong. She refuses to give up, to just die.

Even so, some days are harder than others.

She never strays from their small camp. Who knows what's out there, lurking? No, better to stay where there's safety in numbers.

She has little in common with the others. They barely speak to her; having already formed small groups of their own which they adhere to. That's not to say that she dislikes them, or that they dislike her. Meg has a fiery spirit; headstrong and protective and brave; and very easy to like. Claudette is a kind soul, helpful and gentle. Tapp is determined, quick on his feet and will fight into the last.

Many of them have good qualities; are people Jane can respect. But she hasn't formed a friendship with any of them.

Dwight - a man, white, privileged - is the undisputed leader before she even got here. Of course it would be a man, she thinks to herself. As men so often claim positions of power.

At first they treat her with care, watching for signs of her breaking apart, trying to protect her from the worst of it. At least some of them do; Bill, David, Ace. Maybe it's because she's a woman. Maybe it's because she's new. But when they realize that she's strong, that she won't break, they slowly disperse, as if she's a hatchling being thrown out the nest, ready to be on her own or die.



She won't die. She'll always survive.

 

 

***************************

 

 

Ace locks eyes with her. He often seeks her out, but she’s not in the mood to humour him and ignores his approach.

She's no longer the newest addition to this hellhole - not after Ash barged into onto the scene - but this is still new to her; her first trial still as fresh as an open wound. After... that, when she came to the camp for the first time, the others had flocked around her. Or, well, most of them had. She remembers the surprised faces, questions thrown into the air, a firm voice telling them all to calm down and let her breathe.

After the worst excitement, Ace had approached her like he does now. He had immediately pinned her as a Latina, eager to establish some kind of kinship with her, but Jane was born and raised in the USA - never having lived a day abroad. Ace, however, wasn't shy about revealing his origins; born and raised in Argentina, although he claims to have Italian blood from his mother’s side of the family.

He's a smooth talker, a gambler, a scammer. But she admires his spirit. She's been fighting to carve out her own place in this world and recognizes that he's done the same, although they go about it in different ways. Ace clawed his way out of poverty to the land of opportunity. Her father’s family made a similar journey a long time ago; her grandfather often talks about his old home and the struggles of daily life.

Ace often dials up the charm around the others. Jane suspects that Kate might've fallen for it once or twice; although the hints are so subtle as to be ignored completely by the others, and she knows that many, if not all of them, thinks that Jane has been taken in by his charms as well.

She's spent too many years in show business to have developed anything other than a thick hide; friends turning out to be information leaks to the press; co-workers disguising sexual harassment as flirting or compliments; family pretending to be strangers...

Ace quickly disperses the dark thoughts, drawing her attention as he starts to tell her about a bet he once made, where he bit off more than he could chew. She can't resist a tiny smile at the way he vividly paints the image of the people involved and the crazy bet in question. At the slight encouragement, he goes into great detail, almost rivalling Ash's storytelling skills.

At times, his way with words is reminiscence of her grandfather's. She misses the old man greatly, a sting of sadness at the fact that he and her father is now all alone in the world.

“Want to hear about the time I fought Mika James, a MMA champion?”

She looks at him dubiously, but can’t hide her intrigue. “I’d love to hear about a woman kicking your ass.”

He laughs delighted at that and she fights a smile of her own tugging at her lips.

“So it was in this sports bar…”

As Ace continues his chatter, she hums and listens, letting the sorrow seep from her. No, she’s not in the mood to humour him. But Ace has a tendency to always humour her.

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

 

~ Right Now ~

 

 

 

Jane has always held the belief that working through painful experiences helps heal the wounds of the past. Maybe that's why she accepted that interview. Maybe that's why she opened up about her family to Ace, a virtual stranger.

But there’s no healing from this nightmare.

Her eyes fly open as she screams in agony.



“Look at me, you bitch!” A voice growls. “Look at me while I tear you apart!”

 

 

***************************

 

 

Notes:

Who is in the Entity's realm?

 

Before Everything Fell Apart
 
Before being taken to the Entity's realm.
 
New Surroundings
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare.
The Talker
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion.
Right Now
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash, Nancy, Steve, Yui, Felix, Yun-Jin, Zarina, Élodie, Jonah, Yoichi.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion, the Spirit, the Plague, Ghost Face, the Oni, the Trickster, the Blight.

Chapter 12: What's Your Favourite Scary Movie

Notes:

 
 
First posted on March 30, 2024. Updated several times after that.
 

It's no doubt stupid to run off again mere hours after Jane has been declared missing and with Ace basically accusing him of being the cause, but Dwight is accustomed to making stupid decisions by now.

He figures he'll need some kind of excuse to leave in order to avoid added suspicion, perhaps claim to go search for Jane himself, but it appears that the whole group - with the exception of Ace apparently - is quite agreed on the fact that everyone is free to come and go as they please, without being put through the third degree.

"Don't mind Ace. He doesn't mean it." Nancy follows him to the edge of camp. "He's just scared. And I guess Jane's gotten to him with her paranoia." It's possible. But that doesn't excuse his behaviour.

The fact that he's basically fraternizing with the enemy weighs heavily on Dwight. Keeping secrets, sneaking around - he doesn't like it. But it's not like he's giving aid to the killers or working against the group. In his mind, he's done nothing to deserve being attacked by Ace or Jane.
But clearly, it doesn't matter what he says or that there's no evidence - they're convinced he's guilty of something.

The words tumble out of his mouth automatically. "Yeah. Maybe you're right." He doesn't want to risk breaking their brittle friendship by shooting down her attempt at smoothing things over. After all, he's been in her shoes many times, acting as an arbitrator in arguments to try and keep the peace.

People are talking amongst themselves, mostly about what's happened to Jane or calling Ace's behaviour into question. Quentin is loudly denouncing Ace for causing panic and splitting the group, and murmurs of agreement follows. But there's clearly a divide forming.
Tapp is scanning the crowd, analyzing the situation. Working as a part of the police force, the detective ought to be good at catching liars and sniffing out the truth, which does nothing to calm Dwight's nerves.

He can sense eyes probing. Yun-Jin scoffs when their gazes meet, flicking her hair dismissively. She's speaking with Jonah, whose eyes, although hidden behind dark sunglasses, seems trained in his direction. Besides them, Bill - who is much too sharp for Dwight's liking - is also fixed on him.

He does his best to give the impression of being unruffled by the whole event, as if Ace is just lashing out with baseless allegations, but he's terrified of this turning into a witch hunt.

Ace didn't say so many words when he called him out earlier, but it was obvious for everyone present that he's basically blaming Dwight for being involved in Jane's disappearance, working together with the Trapper in some capacity, or at the very least concealing something from the others.

Now when the accusation has been thrown out there, he can't help but fear that it will turn some of them against him. And if their doubt makes them keep a closer eye on him and perhaps put two and two together, they'll soon end up with a less than flattering image of their so-called leader.






Dwight seeks refuge at the only place he knows of, baring Evan's smithy from which he was told to leave. Adam crawls out of his shelter, tired and dishevelled, when he hears Dwight calling his name.

"You are back." He straightens up and brushes off his knees, tucking the shirt back into his pants. He waits with an air of expectancy, and Dwight hands back the coin. "Did it work as you expected?"

The words get stuck in his throat. Yeah, it really worked. He scratches his head, a flustered gesture. "Um... yeah."

"I see." Turning the coin over a couple of times in his palm, giving it a brief inspection, Adam pockets it. "Well then. If you ever need to borrow it again-"

"I won't."

With Evan's coin he can see the man whenever he wants without having to drag anyone else into this mess. There will be no need to risk implicating Adam or add to the huge debt he already owes (though sharing the knowledge of 'the fog' is only a part of it, the other being him rather successfully defending Dwight against Jane.)

Something flitters across his face, before Adam schools his expression. "If you are sure."

He quickly changes the topic. "Have you heard about Jane?" At Adam's obvious confusion, he continues; "She's missing."

"Missing?"

"Yeah. We were in trial and suddenly she was just gone."

"What do you mean?" Although still clearly bewildered, it's apparent that Adam is absorbing the information and accepting it at a much faster rate than Dwight did when he found out. "Did she disappear within the confinement of the trial arena or did it occur afterwards?"

"I don't know. I was the first one to die, so I don't really know what happened. I heard from Zarina and Steve that they never saw her leaving the trial, though."

The man presses his lips into a thin line, shoulders tensing up. "Which one of the killers were you facing?"

Dwight doesn't know why that matters, but answers anyway. "Ev- eh, the Trapper." He swallows, hoping that his slip-up goes unnoticed. "Why?"

The tension in the man's body leaves, although Dwight's not sure why he should be calmed by it. "It is indeed strange," he says aloud, though speaking more to himself than to Dwight.

As if using it as a comfort, Adam slips a hand into the pocket where his own coin lies. "If only I could-" He stops himself. Instead he says; "I will keep a look out for anything suspicious."

Dwight snorts without mirth. "Yeah, suspicious. Everything's suspicious nowadays."

"Is there anything in particular on your mind?"

He doesn't want to talk about Ace railing against him - Adam will probably hear it soon enough anyway, so instead he grabs the next best thing. "The killers have been strange lately, don't you think? The Doctor's brutality doesn't seem to let up at all."

"So I have heard."

"And that big samurai is behaving weird as well."

"I do believe he is an oni," Adam interjects. A quick look at Dwight prompts him to explain; "It is sort of a, demon, you might call it. They are a part of Japanese folklore."

It's evident that Dwight is impressed by his knowledge and a faint smile ghosts over Adam's lips in response. "I was living and working in Japan when I was taken."

"Oh. Oh! Is that why you and Yoichi are so close?"

"The lack of a language barrier is helpful in cultivating a friendship," Adam admits. "But that is not the reason why we are friends. We share many mutual interests. Claudette has been a friend of his for as long as I have, and she did not know a single word of Japanese in the beginning. They had to make do with what little English Yoichi knew, and I translated when needed. It is only recently she has learned enough Japanese to be able to hold simple conversations."

Dwight had no idea. There are a lot of different languages spoken at camp and it makes sense, when there's nothing else to occupy one's time, to learn one of them. It will keep one's mind sharp, will give a purpose, as well as help communicate with those who speak little to no English.

It makes him wonder if Evan isn't a native English speaker, and if that's why he says so little. On the other hand, he appears to understand Dwight perfectly and there is a distinct American accent lacing his words. So, that's most likely not the reason.

Adam sits down on the ground and Dwight follows suit. "So... both the oni-guy and doctor being weird at the same time... Do you think something's going on? And that it has something to do with Jane?"

"I do not have a hypothesis at this moment. There is too little data to form an opinion. I do agree that it is an anomaly though; killers displaying atypical behaviour - acting either with more aggression than usual or less."

"Like the Doctor in the first category and the Oni in the second."

Adam hums in agreement. "There might be a connection to account for all of this, but there does not have to be. If we try to force a correlation where there is none, we risk missing the true cause."

"Who else has changed...?"

"The Trapper."

Dwight struggles to keep his facial expression neutral. "Oh...? Eh, in what way?"

"For quite some time he has acted fairly level-headed, or at least as much as a killer can be expected to," he asserts. "There has been no evidence of sadistic tendencies in that he takes pleasure in provoking injuries or pain, and no sign of exceptionally aggressive behaviour or maniacal episodes. He uses only the minimal amount of force needed to perform the task at hand, mostly finishing trials as quickly as possible."

Clearly, this is something he's thought a lot about, which surprises Dwight. He didn't know that Adam is studying the killers as well or that he had come to such a favourable conclusion about Evan.

"However, these last dozen trials or so has shown a completely different side of him." Adam's voice cuts through his musings. "The Trapper has been rather ruthless. Any kind of restraint he might have conducted himself with before, is no longer there. He does not exhibit any caution when hunting, heedless if he inflicts more pain than necessary. And at times he has demonstrated a cruelty almost on par with the Doctor."

The last dozen trials. Meaning the time when Dwight was facing every other killer but Evan, and he was down and lonely because of their separation. Had Evan experienced something similar? Had he used the trials as a way to alleviate his frustration at them being kept apart? Or is Dwight, as usual, reading too much into this?

In their last trial, not even half a day ago now, Steve and Zarina didn't say anything about them being recipients of the Trapper's so-called brutal ways, instead claiming that the killer had targeted Jane. Dwight can't help but think that it might be because he raised concerns about her mistrust. He regrets mentioning it to him, at least mid-trial. Clearly, it had been enough to get the man's blood boiling.

But what's the deal with the Doctor? Why is he so brutal? And now when Dwight thinks about it, they're not the only ones who have changed.

"Ghost Face is also raging," Dwight adds, trying to get away from the subject of the Trapper. "More than usual, that is. Meg and Nea was discussing it just a few days ago. And the Shape is more like the Oni now, I guess. I've heard that he isn't even hunting actively in trials anymore, letting people leave unharmed unless they run directly into him."

"I have heard that as well. I had a talk with Laurie recently. She has not shared a trial with the Shape for some time, and so she cannot confirm nor deny these claims of his changed nature, but she professed sincere doubt. She stated that he is not a man but a monster, and that it is very doubtful he will ever change his ways."

"I get that she knows him from before, but you said it yourself; she hasn't faced him in a long time. How would she know if he's changed or not?"

"Mm. That is a good point. If we take the observations of these killers to be true, the Shape and the Oni have considerably mellowed out, for a lack of a better term. While the Doctor, Ghost Face and the Trapper are more aggressive than ever - the latter being the only one who was not aggressive to begin with."

They sit in silence for a moment, digesting the information. "We should collect more data," Adam finally determines. "Ask around if anyone else has noticed anything out of the ordinary. I doubt these killers are the only ones affected."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

Conversation at an end, it appears Adam is about to leave. Dwight knows he should head back to camp, but he can't stand how the others were watching him. How they were taking sides.

And if he's really unlucky, Ace might have returned from his search for Jane. It wouldn't surprise him if it ended up in another altercation between them, especially if Meg or Adam isn't there to keep the peace. But at the same time, Dwight has nowhere to go.

Adam seems to read his mind. "Is there something else troubling you?"

"I..." Dwight sighs and ducks his head. He's so tired. Exhausted, really. The stress of it all is getting to be too much. He drags a slightly shaking hand over his face.

"You may stay, if you like." Adam gestures to the shelter. "You should rest a while. It is more comfortable than it appears, I assure you."

He might as well have offered the use of a 5-star hotel room. Dwight's eyes burn and he rubs them quickly. "Thank you."

Adam looks him over, obviously reading his distress. "I will be back later. You may stay for as long as you like." He makes it sound like a promise.

Suppressing a sob, Dwight nods in reply. He crawls into the shelter, grateful to be able to hide away. He waits until he hears the footsteps fade away, and then he lets the tears and exhaustion overcome him.

 

 

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~ What's Your Favourite Scary Movie ~

 

Dwight actually gets a whole day - if not more - to rest, before he's taken again.

"Ach, Dwight," Felix sighs, evidently let down at the sight of him. "Nur mein glück."¹

He's about to feel offended by the man's clear disappointment, but then he spots their other two teammates. All hope of getting out of the trial alive, is instantly crushed.

Yui stands with her arms crossed, pissed off. Dwight has no idea why and even if he could speak Japanese and ask her, he has no illusions of her confiding in him. So he'll remain in the dark. Unless, of course, it's something he'll be accused of having done. Then people love to unload on him.

The last teammate is Élodie. The Frenchwoman is glaring at Felix, hands on her hips in sort of a confrontational manner. Oh, so maybe they're not annoyed at being lumped together with Dwight, but annoyed at something - someone - else.

Felix seems unperturbed by the scowling in his direction. That the man has accomplished the feat of angering both women in a minute or less before Dwight joined them, adding to the fact that group doesn't even share any languages (Felix and Dwight being the only ones in the team who speaks English) leaves him completely flabbergasted.

Questioning the other man about what he said or did won't lead anywhere, seeing as there's no way of knowing if he's telling the truth. Unable to communicate with half of the team, Dwight doesn't know how to lift the mood and make them work together.

Adam would've been a great addition to the team right now. Or better yet Claudette, who is not only learning Japanese, but also knows French, on the account of her growing up in Canada. Although she claims she and Élodie can barely understand each other's French at times, it would've been better than nothing.

Élodie sighs. "Nous mourrons." ² It sounds like 'moron', but it's not clear who she's referring to.

"We shall go, ja?" Felix watches them impatiently. "Macht schnell!" ³

"We need a plan-" Dwight hasn't even finished the sentence before the group scatters. Great, just great. Hopefully, it will be over quickly.

The killer strikes early in the trial, forcing Yui to flee out into the open. She presses a hand against her chest, blood pouring out from some wound, turning the once-pink top ruby red.

His mind reels trying to work out which killer it might be, but he needn't have. A black shroud tauntingly saunters after her, as if the killer has all the time in the world. The white mask is clear in the dusky setting - its expression frozen in a horrible scream. Ghost Face.

Yui stumbles and falls down. Dwight flinches in sympathy at the impact and the pained yell that follows. She throws a desperate glance over her shoulder as she tries to drag herself up on her feet. He trails her gaze. The killer is gone!

He hesitates. Has Ghost Face really left or is he in hiding somewhere - watching? Is it safe to help her or is she being used as bait to lure them out? Taking into account the type of killer Ghost Face is, Dwight doubts he'd want to end his fun too quickly. He likes to drag out trials, so killing two survivors this early is unlikely.

Yui is losing a lot of blood and he needs to make a decision now to have any chance of helping. He just hopes he's right about the killer.

He sprints up to her, falling on his knees so hard that it stings. Gently he turns her to lie on her back, not even attempting to drag her into hiding. What would be the point? She's bleeding so heavily that it will make a trail leading directly to any shelter they may find. And in any case, the killer is probably watching right now, as he seems prone to do.

Dwight is no Claudette, but he'll do his best. He carefully lifts the blood-drenched jacket from her chest, the process made difficult as the mixed fluids make the fabric stick to her like drying glue. When her wound is fully exposed, he gags.

The stink of copper polluting the air when any of them bleed, is something one get used to quickly. But he won't ever develop the hardened skin some of the others have when it comes to the mutilation itself. He knows the large jagged knife Ghost Face favours, and it rips into flesh and bone alike.

Yui's chest has been split open, as if the knife plunged into her and then tried to saw its way down to her stomach. He breathes methodically through his mouth, partially to keep from puking and partially to get rid of the acrid stench of bodily fluids assaulting his nose.

He rips off a large part of his own shirt to use as a bandage. The fact that a piece of his dirty shirt around a huge open wound will keep her from dying would be laughable in real life, but things work differently here. If he manages to stem the bleeding and she's able to rest a while, the wound will start closing itself. At least to the point where it's no longer deadly, although it will still hurt immensely. Claudette could've probably made the wound heal itself completely, but very few of the survivors are as skilled as her.

When he's done what he can for her, she's no longer bleeding and so it's time to move to a location where they're less exposed. He drags Yui up on her feet; her body mostly limp. Carefully he places her arm over his shoulder, supporting her weight. A glance at her pale, sweaty face earns him a curt nod. She knows what they have to do.

Each step they take is clearly pure agony, evidenced by a long stream of heated murmurs between gritted teeth, but she's fighting through it.

They haven't even reached a hiding spot that Dwight would deem somewhat safe, when they hear a scream. The killer has already downed someone else. Dwight curses.

Yui pulls her arm from him, sagging on her feet, wincing with pain from the movement. She limps towards a nearby sturdy-looking wall of a former building now in ruins. Her hand is gently pressed against her bandaged wound, as if she can feel it healing. He gets what she's not saying - go help the others.

"I'll come back!" He says.

She nods. She may not understand his words, but she understands his intent.

Dwight knows he can't run around all trial just helping whoever Ghost Face attacks, seeing as the generators needs to be fixed, but they can't afford to lose anyone either.

The screaming ends long before he can narrow down the location of his teammate. Either the person is too injuried to continue making noises or Ghost Face has claimed his first victim. A wave of antipathy towards the killer washes over him. All the killers hurt them, yes, but Ghost Face is one of the few who seems to enjoy every second of it; the hunt and maiming a sort of game to him.

Deflated, he roams the area until spotting a generator. With no killer in view and no idea where his wounded teammate is, he grabs the opportunity. He's still careful though, well acquainted with the killer's tendency to stalk and sneak up on the survivors.

Hands shaking, he flinches when noticing that they're caked in rusty red. Take a deep breath. Don't think about it. He concentrates on the wires instead of the dried blood, keeping ears open for any sound indicating the killer approaching, even though he knows Ghost Face is all but completely silent.

Surprisingly enough, he finishes the generator in peace. Relieved and thankful for this stroke of luck, he quietly straightens up from where he's hunched over. Maybe he can go back and see how Yui's doing?

But then his luck runs out. Seemingly from nowhere, a knife violently stabs him. The shock and excruciating pain that follows, is suffocating. He can't even manage a scream. Looking down, the knife is gouging into the softness of his stomach. There's a small glimpse of deadly steel not fully inserted and a black glove gripping the handle firmly.

The killer slowly puts pressure on the hilt forcing the knife forward, carving into his flesh another inch. Dwight doubles over from the pain, jostling the weapon so it hurts even more. Ghost Face then viciously yanks out the knife and he screams as it tears apart his insides. He falls to his knees, all but hyperventilating, crying openly.

He looks up, eyesight blurry with tears. The mask is tilted down, watching him suffer. Ghost Face raises his knife in mock-greeting, casually waves it a little, playful and intimidating.

Dwight groans, unable to form words or even think through the pain.

The killer stoops down and he's convinced that this will be the killing blow. But instead the shroud swipes something from the ground, moving fast as a viper. He watches confused as a gloved hand is suddenly held in his direct line of sight. Caught between the thumb and index finger is a small trinket. He stares at it uncomprehendingly at first, until he realizes what it is.



Evan's coin!



Dwight had it when he was taken to trial and it must've fallen out of his pocket. Unable to stop him, he can only watch as Ghost Face puts it away in some hidden slot in his robe.

The blood-soaked knife then swiftly cuts Dwight across the throat. A spray of blood paints the haunting white mask, now intimately close. He gurgles on his own blood pumping out of the gaping wound, eyes wide in panic as he struggles to breathe.

Collapsing to the ground, death finally, mercifully, releases him from his torment.

 

 

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Notes:

Translations below:

1. Just my luck. Back

2. We will die. Back

2. Hurry up! Back

 

Who is in the Entity's realm?
What's Your Favourite Scary Movie
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash, Nancy, Steve, Yui, Felix, Yun-Jin, Zarina, Élodie, Jonah, Yoichi.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion, the Spirit, the Plague, Ghost Face, the Oni, the Trickster, the Blight.

Chapter 13: What Is Lost

Notes:

 
 
First posted on August 5, 2024. Updated several times after that.
 

Seriously, I should update the tags on this thing. But I'm so bad at tagging. If you think this story should have a specific tag, let me know and I'll consider adding it.

 

 

~ What is Lost ~

 

 

 

He lost the coin. Evan's coin.

No. He didn't lose it. Ghost Face stole it. Why? Just to be an ass? To mock Dwight's helplessness in stopping him? The masked killer has never had it out for Dwight in particular, so being target in this way is unusual.

Perhaps the piece of metal will serve as some sort of sick memento of his death. Serial killers are, after all, known to take trophies from their victims. Only, he's never seen it here.

Clothes and items are returned to their previous owner - and to an immaculate state - when exiting a trial, so even if a killer steals something during, they won't be able to keep it when the trial ends. At least in theory.
The coin not re-emerging for Dwight might be because he's not the original owner, it having belonged to Evan beforehand. Or, it might be because it was made here - in this waking nightmare.

Did Ghost Face somehow realize its source of origin, jumping to the conclusion that he'd be able to keep it? Does he know what it's for?
Maybe he's giving the killer too much credit, but there's just something unnerving about him; concealed behind that mask are shrewd eyes and a sharp mind easily capable of picking up - and apart - every little detail.

Maybe he's planning to use it to go through the fog - even though that's supposed to be impossible. That could explain why he took it, but not how he learned about it in the first place.

Is there a way he could've overheard Dwight and Adam discussing it?

That seems... unlikely. If killers are able to roam freely and stalk survivors outside of trials, Ghost Face wouldn't be able to resist taunting them by leaving clues to his presence. Also, in that scenario, he wouldn't need the coin.

Can someone have told him?

Adam is the only other survivor in the know and seeing how tight-lipped the man has been so far with his fellow survivors, it's highly unlikely he would've volunteered the information. On the other hand, he got his coin from someone - most likely a killer - and that one might have.

A horrifying notion occurs to him - what if Adam's contact in the other camp is Ghost Face?

No, that's impossible. The killer is a psychopath. He doubts anyone would choose to have any sort of relationship with him almost as much as he doubts Ghost Face himself being even remotely interested in one.

And in any case, it doesn't even matter if Adam did, for some reason, tell the shrouded killer about the fog. No one knows what Evan gave Dwight except for the two of them; not even Adam, the only survivor he'd be inclined to tell.

Evan... What if he - ?

Dwight can't imagine Ghost Face cozying up to the taciturn man and succeeding in getting him to spill the beans, but what if Evan told someone else who in turn passed it along?

It's difficult to wrap his mind around the idea of the killers communicating with each other, but there's indisputable proof pointing to the fact that they do. Evidence A: being labelled Evan's boy.

Unlike the survivors who are thrown into trials in groups of four, the killers are always - thankfully - alone. With no one from their own camp to bear witness, whatever happens most likely never leave the grounds unless the killer allows it to.
Seeing as there's no reason to concoct a bond between one of their own and a survivor out of thin air, Evan must've divulged something. And that something is apparently enough for the Doctor to consider Dwight claimed.

It's bordering on romantic.

Being all warm and fuzzy inside because a killer might have feelings for him should be a huge red flag to his deteriorating sanity, but it's funny how a realm of death and torture can distort one's standards of what's normal.

Thoughts drift back to the trial that just ended, souring his mood. Losing Evan's gift almost immediately portrays Dwight in a rather careless light. Even though it was stolen. If he had suspected even for a second that a killer might snatch it he would've hidden it somewhere safe. But it's too late for that now.

He paces back and forth. He has no idea if Evan made the coin himself or if he acquired it by other means; no way of knowing the pains the man might've gone through just to obtain this small item. But even if he did, he doubts it could've added to the guilt already weighing him down.

The loss is a crushing blow, not only because of the object itself but because of what it represents - being on par of getting his own set of keys to Evan's house.

Frustrated with himself, furious with Ghost Face, and dreading Evan's anger and disappointment, he kicks at the ground in a fit of impotent rage. He wants to hit something - someone.

A distant sound makes him freeze up, the threat of detection clearing the fog of anger somewhat. He's acutely aware that he can't risk being seen in this agitated state. Especially not now, when any behaviour out of the ordinary might garner mistrust.

Although he can't spot anybody among the trees, it still makes him conscious of the high likelihood of Jake, or anyone else who regularly scouts for resources, stumbling upon him. Furthermore, people are still keeping a look-out for Jane, some venturing quite far in search of her. It's inadvisable to stay out in the open, unless he relishes the prospect of being cornered by Ace or Tapp when he's on his own.

But where can he go? To Adam's shelter? That's a gamble too. He might not cross-examine him like some of the others are likely to, but he has a habit of reading Dwight too well. He might figure out what's going on. Or worse, Dwight might spill his own secrets in a desperate attempt to get support and advice, seeing as he doesn't really have anyone else to turn to.

... Except, perhaps, Evan.

Hmm. Adam still has his coin, and he did offer to loan it to Dwight again. Why not take advantage of that? Going to the cottage allows him to avoid the other survivors while also seeing Evan. It's a win-win!

Before even consciously making the decision, his feet steers him in the right direction.

 

Finding the other survivor proves a tad difficult. Arriving at Adam's refuge only to find it empty, Dwight is forced to search several other locations; only narrowly keeping out of sight from Claudette and Laurie at one of them, and Yoichi at another.
Evidently, Adam has no issue sharing hideouts. He probably should've anticipated that, seeing as he himself received sanctuary in one of them.

In the end, Dwight happens upon him by pure chance.

Loafers sway gently in one hand as the man saunters barefoot along the stream; wrinkled shirt hanging loosely over his frame with sleeves rolled up in a careless and hasty way. His appearance is in stark contrast from the proper and impeccable way he ordinarily presents himself.

Pre-occupied with his own thoughts, brows slightly furrowed, he pays no heed to his surroundings. Dwight calls his name and he stops with a jerk, confused eyes searching him out. "Dwight?" A slow blink. He straightens up (although he already has great posture and was in no way hunching), frown smoothing out, outwardly returning to his usual unflappable self.

"Um... Hi."

Dropping the shoes to the ground with a muffled thud, Adam absent-mindlessly adjusts the front parts of his shirt, covering up dark skin glistening faintly with residue water. "You need something?" He sounds distracted, a bit impatient. Clearly not in the mood to talk.

"Uh, yeah." Dwight politely averts his gaze as the other buttons his shirt.

Adam appears unbothered by being half-dressed in his presence - which granted, they are both guys so it shouldn't be a problem - but Dwight is not used to straight guys being this laid-back around him. As soon as they learn about his sexuality it will, without fail, put an awkward tint to most encounters. It's like they're expecting him to jump their bones at the mere hint of skin, as if they're living n the freaking Victorian era!

Although to be fair, his experience with straight guys are mostly limited to his school years followed by his workplace - both turning out to be rather toxic environments overall.

Wait. Adam knows he's gay, right?

Granted, he's never said it outright, never talked about guys he's hooked up with (really, what's to tell?), so maybe not. After all, Dwight and the Trapper are being suspected of working together, not having sex. The very idea probably wouldn't even enter most people's mind.

A low, painful hiss startles him out of his thoughts.

Eyes flicker back curiously to Adam, who is now busy rolling down the sleeves of his shirt. Noticing his stiff posture Dwight turns concerned. Discreetly scanning him in search for injuries, he can't spot anything wrong at first. That's until he catches a partial view of his left forearm.

Adam releases a soft, relieved breath when both arms are covered up, as if that small act caused him pain. Dwight's eyes dart away, not wanting to be caught looking.

 

Was that ... A burn mark? And a nasty one at that, by the looks of it.

 

He's practically vibrating with unvoiced questions, but knows he really doesn't have the right to probe. Especially not now, when that's the last thing he wants to be subjected to himself.

Abandoning his curiosity over a burn that shouldn't be possible with how things work here, he instead musters up the courage to ask to borrow the coin once more. Adam hands it over without comment, not displaying any sign that he noticed Dwight seeing his arm.

Not being challenged over the request is surprising to say the least, as Dwight had previously made it quite clear he would no longer have any need for the coin. Maybe Adam just figured he had a change of heart. With the cool metal in the palm of his hand, he decides not to question the success of the mission. Instead, he gratefully slips away.

 

 

 

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It's a lot easier to get to the fog unseen than hunting down the elusive teacher. Although he's only done this once before, he passes through eagerly, marching in the direction of Evan's dwelling. Stepping out from the line of trees, he spots the door to the cottage being wide open, as if in welcome. He feels light, almost giddy, when he hurries towards it.

His brisk walk across the meadow slows down when he becomes aware there are no noises travelling on the wind, no hint of open flame beckoning in the belly of the forge, no heat pouring out. Unsure, he stops in the doorway, peering inside.
It's dark, but for the natural - or rather unnatural - sunlight, penetrating far enough to form a path along the floor to the empty hearth.

The cottage appears cold. Desolated.

It was probably too optimistic to assume Evan would just be here waiting, but somehow any other possibility hadn't even crossed his mind. Although disappointed to find himself alone, it's still better to stay here than go back. If the other is in trial it stands to reason it shouldn't take long for him to return.

Dwight doesn't breach the invisible barrier keeping him from stepping over the threshold, not wanting to add intruding to the list of reasons Evan might get angry. Instead he hangs back in the doorway, throwing glances over his shoulder ever so often, hoping to spot a large shape lumbering over at any moment. But no such luck.

As time drags on, he finds himself bored.

Having already been allowed in once, would Evan really raise any objections to him waiting inside? He gave Dwight the coin to allow him to come back whenever he wanted. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't expect him to use it, right? And the door is wide open! It's not like he's breaking and entering.

Bolstered by the justification he slips inside. His conscience stings a bit, but he elects to ignore it. After all, he won't rummage around in the man's things. He's not here to unearth secrets or weaknesses that can be used against him. He won't touch anything, just wait patiently. Is it a flimsy excuse? Probably. But that doesn't stop him.

He stays in the pillar of light and makes his way onwards - gaze touring every corner, observing and cataloguing details, wanting to absorb everything. The forge lacks any appearance of order, though he's sure there must be one that makes sense for the blacksmith in question.

A variety of objects are strewn about the cottage (some he guesses Evan's made), equipment hangs in clusters from the ceiling and on sturdy-looking shelves as well as from numerous hooks lining the walls. There's hardware to be found nearly everywhere: ranging in sizes from large and heavy to small and delicate. He recognizes some; a dozen different hammers, tools made for cutting, chisels, tongs and a couple of bellows. But most of it he has no idea of their purpose.

A layer of sand encircles the hearth, clearly there by design, and close by is a container carrying massive amounts of water. Both are likely safety measures in case a fire breaks out. And then of course there's the anvil, cool to the touch and unyielding.

There aren't a lot of furniture; a couple of stools and only one table - or perhaps work bench would be a more fitting term. The latter is robust with a wide surface, covered in notches and chipped at the corners; its appearance humorously reflecting its owner. He begins to smile, but chokes when he remembers Evan bent over it, ass pushed out and hole stretched around his fingers.

He squirms a bit, shutting down the images in his mind. This is not the appropriate time to get aroused!

Any pleasant thoughts instantly dissipate when he spots the infamous bear traps. They're leaning against the back wall, stacked up and almost hidden from view. Although they're deactivated it makes them no less horrifying, and the implication of them being here, even more so.

Whether the inventor or simply the builder - Evan is creating these things.

It's not like the possibility never occurred to him before, but having it confirmed still makes him uneasy. Is Evan being coerced? Recalling the burns and scars littering the man's body, the assumption is an easy one to make. But even if that's true, it's difficult to overlook the fact that the traps are intentionally constructed to elicit extreme agony at best and to be mutilating at worst.

Pressured to or not, everyone has a certain amount of choice in what they do. Even Dwight, who is little more than a hamster stuck in a wheel, has made choices. Debatable ones, sure. Like keeping secrets. Developing feelings for a killer. Choosing to act upon those feelings.

Back in regular life, the idea of him starting any kind of relationship with a felon (can one even be considered a criminal when there are no justice system?) would've been ludicrous. Some hook-ups were douche bags, sure, but Dwight's instincts of self-preservation are too well developed to actively seek out "bad boys". He's not into the dangerous type.

Things are different here though.

If the others learned of his secret they wouldn't understand. Hell, Dwight's not sure he understands half of the time. He has no delusions about people being happy about them pairing up or Evan being accepted into their camp, but he worries about what conclusions they'll draw.
Just because he's seeing a killer doesn't mean he's asking them to sanction the horrific rituals performed here. He's not of the belief that murder is okay - he's just as vehemently against it as they are! Be that as it may, the fact that he's having sex with someone from the other camp might ostracize him from the group, lead him to being lumped together with - and seen as - the enemy.

To a certain extent, he gets it. Continually disregarding Evan's bloody deeds and seeking him out is, he'll admit, a large step into the moral grey-zone. He's not sure how he would've reacted if he found out Claudette was bonking the Wraith behind their backs or something like that. Still, he's hoping for some kind of understanding. Maybe even an reluctant acceptance.

They're in an extraordinary situation. This may be hell, another planet or whatever, but it's as far from normal as Dwight can imagine. Can they really be expected to uphold ethical norms belonging to a whole other existence? And seeing as they all come from wildly different backgrounds with a vast array of societal rules, values and behaviours, who is to say what's okay and not? Who gets to determine what's right or wrong morally?

In the end, there's no point in scrambling for excuses or mitigating circumstances, he knows that. If their relationship is revealed, Dwight will likely be considered a traitor, never to be trusted again. But although he's anxious about being found out, ashamed and guilt-ridden by his own shifty behaviour, he can't stop. Evan is a killer. But he's the only good thing Dwight has.

 

The air stirs and a heavy presence looms at the door.

 

Eyes watch intently from behind a grim mask, a stiff posture the only hint that Evan has been taken by surprise. If Dwight expected to be greeted by open arms, he's sorely disappointed. Instead the man hovers unsurely, as if expecting the other to suddenly realize where he is and bolt.

Not that he would've gotten very far, seeing as the large man blocks the only exit.

Not wanting to scare off this unexpected visitor, Evan is slow and cautious in his movements when he steps inside. Making his way over to the wall he creates a free passage to the door, but Dwight has no intention of running off.

The cleaver is carefully placed on a rack, making a low clanging noise as it slides into place. Thankfully, there's not a speck of blood on it and a relieved breath escapes him. Honestly, he didn't know what to expect when a killer returns from trial, but he's grateful to find that Evan isn't covered in the blood of his friends.

The mask is unfastened and deposited on a shelf, the persona of the Trapper finally put aside. At first he's encouraged by this and draws nearer, but broad shoulders tensing up brings him to a halt. Uncertainty creeps up on him and the silence becomes drawn-out and uncomfortable.

"Evan...?"

When the other finally faces him it's with no small amount of trepidation. It's usually (always) Dwight who's the nervous one, never sure if he's one wrong word or move away from being swiftly disposed off. This frankly makes the fact that he's attracted to the man even more messed up!

The reversal of their roles startles him.

When the other still doesn't speak or give any hint of wanting him to stay or go, he's desperately clambering for a reason why. Has something happened since they saw each other last? If Evan knows about the theft, chances are that he'd be angry or frustrated not anxious. And their last tryst ended on an affectionate note so it can't be something Dwight's done, can it?

"Is this... is this a bad time?"

What if their previous meeting is the problem? Didn't he enjoy it? Maybe they crossed a line and Evan regrets it? It's getting a bit harder to breathe. He feels exposed, vulnerable, and is beginning to think that coming here wasn't such a great idea after all.

He clears his throat anxiously, staring at a spot on the wall. "If... if you don't want-"

If you don't want me -

"I can just..." His voice tapers down until it fails him completely and he gestures weakly at the door.

Enormous arms wrap around him without warning and he tenses in surprise. Evan gently but firmly pulls him close, pressing their bodies together in a one-sided hug. As he's being cradled gingerly, Dwight relaxes. He burrows his face into the warm chest, melting into the embrace. Eyes flutter shut as he inhales the alluring scent of leather, burning wood and hint of copper.

The hurt fades as it's replaced by yearning. Starved for touch, as if they haven't seen each other for years, Dwight wants more. The sheer need builds inside of him until he can think of little else - mind muddled and slow.
But he won't push Evan too far and risk scaring him off. If touching and kissing is as far as the other wants to go, he'll respect that boundary.

There's a caress along his cheek, the rough texture familiar and welcome. A finger slides underneath his chin guiding his head backwards into a tilt, and his eyes open just enough to catch a glimpse of brown orbs observing him. Lips ghosts over his mouth and he allows for better access by tilting back even further. He sighs contently into the kiss, more than happy to bask in the attention.

When Evan pulls away, the stark difference between the heat of his body and the chilly air make Dwight shiver.

"Cold."

Although not voiced as a question, it's clear he's expecting an answer. "Just a little bit." He's more than willing to be warmed up by the walking furnace in front of him, but it appears as though the man has another idea.

Evan sets to the task of getting a fire going and Dwight follows close on his heels. The practiced movements and focus as he's preparing the hearth are mesmerizing to watch. When the kindling merrily catches fire, Evan patiently feeds the flames to gain in strength and size.
It's a slow-going process and Dwight is impatient to get back to what they were doing. He appreciates the gesture, but they don't know when one or both of them will be dragged away and he wants to make the most of the time they have.

A layer of coal is added on top of the fire and he wants to groan, self-restraint running low. He's never had to make a fire before, does it really take this much work? He's not even being given a look as he fidgets restlessly. It's annoying. Is the damn fire more important than him?

The tremendous need to be closer has him reaching out before he can think twice about it. The featherlight caress over scarred skin elicits a low, pleased rumble, and Dwight is happy not to have his touch rejected.

Finally Evan tugs him close, and they're kissing. He doesn't know who initiated it but it doesn't matter. Both of them are eager, desperate to taste and feel each other. Meaty hands encircles just about his whole waist, and a thrill runs through him at the brief image flashing by of powerful arms lifting him up and settling him down on the man's cock. He hardens at the fantasy, moaning into the kiss.

When Evan's hands leave him, he bites down a disappointed whine. Before his insecurity can rear its ugly head again, Evan unbuckles and pushes down his rubber overalls. Taking a step back, Dwight watches as he impatiently steps out of his clothes. And oh, he's already half-erect.

"Dwight."

Spoken in that gruff voice of his it might as well have been a command. Dwight's legs buckle and he sinks down to the floor. There's no room for a lack of confidence when he breathes in the musky smell of Evan, the half-hard shaft twitching as his lips trace over the sensitive head. He gives a tentative lick, moaning at how the filthy act makes the flesh even harder in arousal.

He laps and sucks at the soft skin, letting a generous amount of spit dribble down from his mouth. He grips the length with both hands, lazily skimming up and down. For disliking giving blowjobs so much, he's been rather eager to drop to his knees for Evan. And this time it's to feed his own desire to see the man come undone, to sate his hunger for the noises spilling out above him.

As he withdraws to take a breath, he gathers the saliva and precum pooling at the head and uses it to slick his way down to the base, grip turning firmer. A startled gasp and a drawn-out moan leaves Evan, who is struggling to keep still.

"Want."

That one word, that confirmation, exhilarates him. Evan wants him. Dwight is making him feel good. A solid weight settles at the back of his head. Not pulling his hair nor pushing him forward. The hand is more of a comfort - a way to anchor them both.
Dwight's chest starts hurting. He avoids meeting Evan's heavy gaze, redoubling his efforts to get him off. Sex is simple. Straightforward. He doesn't need to think. Analyze.

At a especially skilful and pleasurable motion Evan groans loudly, hand twitching in Dwight's hair. Dwight's gaze flicks up just for a moment, making contact with eyes darkened by lust. Evan's patience snaps and he hauls Dwight to his feet, prying his mouth open with an expert tongue. The kiss is urgent, sloppy. Every breath is shared, unwilling to let too much space come between them.

Dwight's dizzy with arousal, mind blanking out under the passionate onslaught of the other's talented mouth. Even without receiving any stimulation, his own erection is straining against his pants, begging for attention. He's so keyed up he might actually be able to come like this. At least if he can get just the tiniest bit of pressure -

He whines unhappily when Evan temporarily relinquishes his hold, blinking confused as Evan fetches something.

"Use."

Dwight inhales in excitement when he recognizes the bottle. Will Evan let himself be fingered again? Or does he want to be the one-
He almost expires on the spot when Evan bends over the table. Receiving another chance to pleasure Evan this way is not something he had expected. Not after how he was greeted earlier.

His hands shake with anticipation to the point where he can barely open the bottle. He takes a breath and slows down. This is not about his own gratification. Evan trusts him to take the lead, confident that Dwight won't cause him pain. A hint of discomfort when being stretched, a delicious ache when fingers slide back and forth, the soreness afterwards... But it shouldn't hurt. Shouldn't tear and damage.

Dwight spreads Evan's ass, the man flinching slightly. "Sorry, should've warned you..." Dwight says, voice thick with lust. Although he recognizes that he doesn't sound sorry at all, he really doesn't want to make Evan uncomfortable. He's just so horny it's difficult to think.

"I'm..." He trails off, finger tracing Evan's taint. He licks his lips, throat dry at the view. "I'll... start touching." As if he wasn't already. But Evan gets his meaning and grunts in response.

Dwight pours some oil on Evan's ass, letting it run down between the cheeks. He stops the liquid from dripping on the floor as he catches it with his fingers, running his digits up along the sensitive, wet skin. He teases the fluttering hole, admiring how it glistens drenched in oil.

Dwight would love to see the expression on Evan's face; use it as guidance when giving him pleasure. But Evan keeps his head down, hiding it in his folded arms. Even so, he can't conceal the flush spreading on his ears and neck. If it's from arousal or embarrassment, or a combination of the two, Dwight doesn't know. But the way Evan impatiently presses back against his fingers says enough.

Evan grunts when Dwight lets one well-oiled finger carefully slink inside. He makes sure to take his time, stretching him meticulously with one digit before adding another. He's thrusting in and out in a steady pace, Evan squeezing around him.

Dwight is hard as a rock in his pants and his breathing shallow. Desperate for some relief, he debates with himself how successful he'd be at jerking off with his left hand while fucking Evan with the other one.

A displeased sound stops him in his tracks. "Is something wrong?"

"You." Evan moans, rocking back on his fingers. "Want."

"You want me?" He smiles elated, thinking Evan is just greedy for more. "Need me to give it to you faster?" He ups the speed, making sure to nail the prostate repeatedly. A full-bodied shiver rakes through Evan as he cries out. "Fuck, you're so hot."

Dwight's free hand strokes Evan's sweaty back as he folds over him. He doesn't even reach the man's shoulder blades - he's just too big. He kisses and nibbles at the skin, his whole body aching with the need to come.

Evan lets out a frustrated growl. "You."

Dwight immediately stills. With precum pooling on the floor and ass clamping down on Dwight's fingers as if he's on the brink of coming, Evan is clearly enjoying himself. But at the same time, it's also clear that he's dissatisfied.

"Evan? I-I don't..." He frowns. It's difficult when they can't communicate properly. Evan was the one who initiated this, giving him the oil and bending over the table. What is he- oh.

He licks his dry lips. "Do... do you want me to... use something other than fingers?"

Dwight cringes when Evan freezes up and he instantly wants to backpedal. He's confused when he hears a soft exhale followed by the body beneath him relaxing marginally. He refuses to act on a hunch though, concerned he might be reading the signals wrong.

"Evan, you need to give me some kind of sign here."

The other hesitates long enough that Dwight withdraws, arousal diminishing. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. But then Evan raises himself up on his arms, turns his head just enough to make sure he has Dwight's attention, and then he nods once. Dwight inhales and Evan ducks his head, a fierce blush on his cheeks.

He's not allowing any room for misunderstandings. "You... you want me to fuck you?"

Evan nods with a whimper, gripping the base of his dick to stave off an orgasm, as if the mere thought of being fucked is enough for him to blow his load.

Fuck. His fingers slips back inside, getting Evan ready. He makes sure to ram that sensitive spot, curling his digits just right. Evan is panting and writhing at the treatment, hips moving to take him deeper. Dwight feels like he's being dragged under by waves of lust. "I'll make it feel good... Make you feel good," he murmurs. Evan tightens, moaning noisily.

"I-I'm gonna-" He unbuckles his pants, needing both hands to get the damned belt off. His dick is an angry red, feeling like he's been on edge for ages. He takes a deep breath before he takes himself in hand, making sure to use plenty of oil. "I'll be careful," he promises.

He guides his shaft inside inch by inch, groaning at the constricting heat pulsating around his erection. Evan suddenly jolts forward, breath hitching. "Y-you okay?" Dwight stammers. He receives a grumble and a short affirming nod in reply.

Evan squeezes around Dwight, loosening his grip only for the walls to tighten again. It's like Evan's body is trying to milk him, coax him into filling his needy hole. Dwight pleads: "S-stop, or I'll come."

It has the opposite effect, leading Evan to shove down and force Dwight to impale him to the hilt. "Evan!" He's throbbing, precum spurting inside as he struggles to keep from climaxing. "Fuck, I can't, I can't -"

Evan starts to stroke himself furiously, the pleasure of his own hand and a cock in his ass propelling him into a violent orgasm. He clenches down on Dwight who grabs his hips and starts thrusting, driving into that sloppy hole as if his life depends on it. Although on the brink of overstimulation, Evan lets Dwight use him.

As he rams into Evan, punching a wretched groan out of him, he shouts; "I -I'm gonna-" He tenses up and comes.

Dwight slows down, shoving himself inside a few more times as he comes down from his high. He winces as he realizes he came inside. He pulls out carefully, watching as his semen leaks out Evan's ass, leaving a white and sticky trail.

Evan raises himself from the table and Dwight steps back, anxiously waiting for the other to turn around. Evan doesn't seem to care that he has come running down his thighs, merely turning around and leaning heavily against the table. His face is flushed, eyes glazed over. Dwight preens at the sight.

 

He can't wait to do this again.

 

 

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Notes:

1. Adam is not straight in this story, but he did talk about a woman he went out with before he was kidnapped, so that's why Dwight assumes he is. So what is Adam's sexual orientation?

I'm leaning towards a mix of pansexual and asexual. Maybe panromantic asexual? My thinking is that Adam can fall in love with a person of any gender identity but that he probably experiences very little interest in sexual activities/rarely feel sexual attraction.

2. Since I'm writing about a person who is gay without being so myself, it's difficult to write about their experiences in how they're being treated by others. I want to preemptively say, if it makes any difference, that I don't identify as heterosexual.

I grew up in a time and place where homo- and heterosexual were basically the only two labels that existed for sexual and relationship orientations. When I was a teenager someone outright asked me if I was gay, others treated me like I were.

3. I didn't expect the comments last time, so this time I come prepared! :) YES, Evan is letting Dwight top again. No, this is not a static dynamic. Dwight will get his turn in getting pummelled, don't you worry! ;)
Who is in the Entity's realm?
 
What is Lost
 
Survivors: Dwight, Jake, Meg, Claudette, Nea, Ace, Laurie, Bill, Feng, David, Quentin, David (Tapp), Kate, Adam, Jeff, Jane, Ash, Nancy, Steve, Yui, Felix, Yun-Jin, Zarina, Élodie, Jonah, Yoichi.
Killers: the Trapper, the Wraith, the Hillbilly, the Nurse, the Shape, the Hag, the Doctor, the Nightmare, the Huntress, the Cannibal, the Legion, the Spirit, the Plague, Ghost Face, the Oni, the Trickster, the Blight.

Chapter 14: Murderers and IKEA

Notes:

 
 
I'm tired of staring at this chapter. I'm not happy with it, but I'm posting it so I can get it out of the way.

Posted on March 24, 2025.
 

 

 

 

 

 

This time around Dwight has the means to freshen up afterwards - courtesy of the substantial amount of water near at hand. Unfortunately, the recently made fire hasn't warmed up the water at all. It's on the cusp of being painful, like rubbing ice-cubes over his naked skin. He could've just relied on the "Trial wash", but that would've required him to go through the fog and he's not ready to leave yet.

Washing off the worst of the sticky mess with a rag of questionable cleanliness, he's shivering by the end of it. Having nothing remotely sanitary to dry off with, he simply lets the water trickle down his stomach and groin - the chill of it burrowing down to his bones. He grabs his clothes from the dirty floor, gives them a half-hearted brush off and hurriedly puts them back on, eager to gain a layer of protection from the cold.

It's uncomfortable to get dressed while still wet, but he prefers it to fluids drying and flaking in his underwear. Evan on the other hand doesn't seem bothered, not even attempting to clean up before pulling on the overall again. Dwight grimaces slightly. Will he be disgusted when semen starts leaking out? Does he even realize that's what's going to happen?

Maybe he's being stupid about this; after all, just because Evan might not have experience with male partners, doesn't have to mean that he's never had sex.

The man in question is unaware of Dwight's mind running away with him. He lumbers over to a small chest and rummages around, behaving as if he's forgotten that the younger man is still there. This is the first time either one of them has stuck around afterwards so maybe he's expecting Dwight to leave when his back is turned?

He won't though. There's no gate or team waiting, no trial calling for either of them, and frankly, he's not looking forward to going back.

In a bid to warm up, Dwight alternates between rubbing his hands against each other and cupping them in front of his mouth to blow on them. A tingling sensation fans out from palm to fingertips as his poor limbs desperately soak up what little warmth he can produce.

Too exhausted to feel awkward about it, Dwight boldly drags a stool to the hearth and collapses. The heat, accompanied by the smell of burning coal and smoke, slams into him, and although scorching to the point of almost being too much to withstand, it's not yet enough to thaw him up. His body temperature is at an unbearable low. Not dangerous by any means, just wildly uncomfortable.

Trying to keep his focus on something else, he digs through his memories to recall who came up with the term Trial wash. Nea maybe? She's usually keen on naming things, "the Trapper" a prime example that springs to mind. But it might just as easily have been Ash or Meg who coined it, sharing a similar dark humour.

The Trial wash is what they go through when they exit a trial - whether by escape or death - as dirt, blood and various fluids are removed. It's basically a macabre car wash, hence the name. Clearly also a factor when crossing the fog, as Dwight found out last time. A neat trick. Though he never truly feels clean afterwards.

Nothing's stopping them from jumping into the forest stream for a more thorough wash up, but for the fact that the water is absolutely freezing. Even so, by the looks of Adam last they saw each other, it's apparently not enough of a deterrent for some.
That's not Dwight's main reason for concern though. He's worried about falling into an embarrassing situation of being seen or - worse - taken mid-bath. Although he's around 90 % sure whatever state a survivor is in, they'll emerge fully dressed as usual when summoned. Otherwise someone would've noticed by now. Probably.

There's a prickle at the back of his neck - the sensation of being watched. There's no time to fret about getting kicked out before something heavy is placed over his shoulders. He flinches at the unexpected weight, too surprised by the sudden contact to stop his instinct from rearing its head.

Evan pulls back and Dwight automatically grabs the ends of the stiff blanket to keep it in place. He looks up. "Thank you."

Noticing the long straps and catching a whiff of the heavy, purr-inducing musk clinging to the leather, he recognizes it as Evan's blacksmith's apron. How is it possible that the man's scent, which can't consist of much more than sweat and his own natural aroma tainted by burned coal (and sometimes, less-appealingly in of itself, by the lingering smell of copper) can smell so good?

Dwight doesn't particularly enjoy the odor of sweat. Who does, right? It's not like he's squeamish about it, but he's hooked up with more than one guy obsessed with working out and some of them took the idea of hygiene as more of a suggestion than a necessity. One guy came over directly after the gym, still dressed in his gym clothes for god's sake, having barely wiped the worst off with a towel figuring "they'd just get sweaty soon anyway".

Foul-smelling shoes and disgustingly wet socks, t-shirt with huge pit stains, the abhorrent stench of stale sweat - yeah, that's not sexy. So he put his foot down and made clear rules about having a proper shower before meeting up, and not one of those "quick rinse and then make up for the rest by spraying cologne from head to toe"-types of showers either.

If it sounds like Dwight had a queue of hot guys lining up ready to break down his door, nothing could've be further from the truth. He was a convenient option seeing as he was almost always available, both in the form of his relationship status as perpetually single, but also due to being kind of a homebody - no friends or hobbies pulling him outside the apartment.

He should be bitter about it. Actually, he kind of is bitter. But he craved human interaction and affection as much back then as he does now and took whatever chance he could to satisfy that need.

He pulls the makeshift blanket tighter to his body cocooning himself in it best he can. Discreetly he takes a long whiff. Evan's scent is nice. More than nice, actually.

He watches as the man in question settles at a moderate distance away, allowing for plenty of space between them. One might think that he's actually forgotten Dwight's presence, if it weren't for the fact that he arranges himself with his back against the workbench, making sure they're facing each other. He watches as Evan drops a modest amount of liquid on a scrub brush and proceeds to gently rub it over the head of a small axe in hand.

It should feel threatening to sit in a shack in the middle of nowhere with a killer methodically polishing what could easily be a murder weapon. It should. Right now he's too drained, both physically and emotionally, to conjure up any healthy amount of apprehension.

The cottage is quiet but for the muted sound of the brush's coarse bristles scraping over steel. It's a comfortable silence. A domestic sort of vibe.

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion drop as sleep overcomes him.









When rousing from his unwitting nap, he's at first unaware of the slip-up. It's only taking notice of small differences that clues him in. Details such as Evan sitting in another position and having discarded the brush for a file.

It's beyond stupid to fall asleep in the presence of a killer. Why his brain decided to throw common sense right out the window and choose this as the perfect moment to catch some shut-eye, he has no idea. Apparently seeking the man out repeatedly without meeting a grisly death has somehow made Dwight subconsciously categorize him as "safe" - another sign of blatant stupidity.

At the same time he can't really claim Evan is unsafe, can he? Not when he's aware of the amount of comfort and relaxation being in the man's arms brings and the gentleness and care he's continually being shown.

His mind is being pulled in all kind of directions, unable to settle on any one feeling. One part is telling him that he can trust Evan as much as any person he hardly knows but have mostly friendly interactions with. Another part grimly reminds him that this person has killed him more than once, and is still killing his friends. Leaving himself open and vulnerable around someone like that can be dangerous. On the other hand, it's arguably even more dangerous to be fucking said someone.

Rubbing sleep-crusted eyes, he comes to the conclusion that he's too tired to struggle with a conflicted conscience right now. At least he's pleasantly warm and marginally rested.

Evan wordlessly acknowledges him waking up as he yawns and stretches. The apron glides down his shoulders but he doesn't bother catching it, too distracted by the combination of ache and numbness ranging from his lower back down to his thighs, no doubt stemming from the torture device masquerading as furniture he's seated on. Next time he'll put something soft down first.

"Do you like it?" The hand honing the edge of the axe stills. "Working with tools? Like making things?"

The questions are blurted out in a moment of weakness. Maybe it's fatigue loosening his tongue, in the way too much alcohol tends to. It takes Evan by surprise as much as it does Dwight.

The nervous leader is not great at making small talk, usually leaving it to those who are more confident in their conversational skills. Nevertheless, he's not without any merit. He's shy and a bit insecure - not wholly socially inept!
But the very idea of carrying on idle chitchat with Evan comes so far out of left field he can't fathom how the notion even popped into his brain. Even so, now when he's started it he can't very well just leave it be and let the quiet drag on.

"You seem to be really good at it. You must've been doing this for a long time, right?"

Mindful of the other not being the most vocal of characters, the lack of reply is predicted. Although he would be lying if he said it wasn't just a little bit disheartening. He doesn't know what he expected from the other, but being stone-walled wasn't it.

"I-I just... I mean, it has to take a lot of experience and skill."

This is the longest conversation they've ever had - if it can even be called that when he's the only one doing the talking. Dwight is used to conforming to his surroundings - to the wants and needs of others, accustomed to the necessity of making himself useful enough as to not be seen as a nuisance. But he doesn't know what Evan wants; he can't get a read on the stoic man.

As the silence continues, he flounders in an attempt to salvage the situation and cover-up his growing embarrassment. "It's kind of rare nowadays, isn't it? To make things by hand?"

He scratches his chin in a self-aware gesture. "I'm not skilled like that," he blabbers on. "Can't even follow the instructions to slap together IKEA furniture!" He gives off a self-deprecating chuckle.

It's clear now that the atmosphere has shifted. There's something almost unsettling in the air, the relaxed mood from before - gone. The worry that he might've breached an unvoiced rule makes him fidget anxiously. "I-is something wrong?" He holds his breath, warily awaiting the ramification of whatever transgression he's made.

An unexpected motion towards the floor leaves him confused. "What are - ? Oh!" The apron lies in a crumpled pile at his feet. "Sorry!" He picks it up straightaway, frowning at the dust as he sweeps a hand over the leather repeatedly.

"Cold."

He startles. "Huh? Are-are you cold? Oh, I-I didn't know. Here, you shouldn't have-"

He's half-across the room when a head-shake stops him. "You."

"M-me?" He clutches the apron to his chest. "What do you-? I... I-I mean, I'm not-" he stammers unintelligibly.

This close, it dawns on him that he's not being met with irritability or ire. Instead, it's evident that the man is making a conscious effort to come across as non-threatening, subtly leaning backwards and lowering his shoulders in a forcibly relaxed pose, grip around the tools loosening. Evan gives the apron a nod and then watches him expectantly. Oh.

"I'm... not cold anymore," he mumbles, offering back the garment. "Thank you," he adds. A hint of guilt scratches at the surface, ready to join the cocktail of emotions. Although a small amount of caution is healthy, this strong of a reaction was uncalled for.

Evan considers him closely and then grunts, apparently appeased. When he sets the file in motion once more - a return to his previous work- Dwight feels comfortable enough to retreat to his place by the fire.

 

 

He stays in his spot until heavy steps guide Evan to the wall once more, evidently having been called to trial. Dwight doesn't evacuate the cottage in a panic this time, being pretty confident that he won't be struck down now when he wasn't earlier. Instead he drags his feet, having no desire to re-join the others at camp.

He narrowly avoids throwing out a "good luck!" - the polite part of his brain almost overpowering the rational one, the latter bitterly aware of the Trapper's objective.

On the other side of the fog, he puts some distance between himself and the tree that marks the spot. Although no one but he and Adam knows the significance of that place, he can't risk being linked to it if the secret ever gets out.

He finds a good tree stump to occupy and absent-mindedly picks at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. There's no evading the others indefinitely and keeping away won't do him any favours, only adding fuel to the rumours. But he needs some time to himself. To think.

He overreacted back at the forge. Was it totally unfounded? Maybe not. But it was still an overreaction. His opinion of Evan has been vastly improved, but Dwight still has a hard time fully accepting he won't go back to the early days of hunting and killing him. Maybe it's unfair. At least Dwight's conscience appears to think so. But really, how can you trust someone you don't know?

Looking at this from an outsider's perspective, what has he learned about Evan that isn't something he's pieced together using observations, deductions and his own imagination? He knows nothing about the man's opinions, wants and needs, likes or dislikes, nothing about his past, if he comes from the "regular" world like the survivors do or if he's some kind of alien or hell-being or the like.

He isn't sure what he'd prefer. Spending one's entire existence in a dimension of death and pain, knowing only this life and nothing else, triggers sympathy and understanding in Dwight. But if the first option is true...

Apparently, that's the case for the Shape, an unstoppable murder machine, and the guy with purple hair, a psycho, having followed Laurie and Yun-Jin respectively. If the survivors ever entertained the notion of all the killers once being innocent people corrupted into bloodthirsty murderers - those two put a stop to it. They were already twisted individuals.

When the camp found out the origins of the two killers and the fact they had families (!) questions and demands for more information poured out. Yun-Jin had merely scoffed that the purple-haired guy only ever loved himself, family left in the dust when he had no more use for them. She was the one who ignited his rebirth as something greater - the one who moulded him into a star! The bitter regret in her voice was unmistakable.

All Laurie would say on the subject of the Shape was that "he killed them". A simple yet chilling summary.

That raises the question though; do all the killers have previous lives? Friends and loved ones? Maybe not someone like the Blight who has little, if any, human qualities. But the Legion? The Doctor? .... Evan?

Trying to picture the huge man walking down a street back home, gym-bag slung over his shoulder, whistling to himself - yeah, he can see it. Maybe. And if that's true, he must've had a family. Parents. Siblings? How about a partner? And in that case, did he leave them willingly? Are they dead? And if they are, was he the one who -

What will he do if he finds out that Evan was - is - a serial killer? It's one thing to be imprisoned and driven to kill and another to choose it as a free man. If he murdered people like the Shape did, what's stopping him from one day turning on Dwight? Hell, he's already killed Dwight several times back in the early days! Sure, Evan was never unnecessarily cruel, but at the same time he never seemed to feel any remorse.

Just because Evan treats him well right now doesn't have to mean anything in the grand scheme of things. They've been spending very little time together after all, sharing mostly stolen moments in trials. Let's face it, getting along and keeping on the other man's good side is not that difficult when they hardly see each other.

Their circumstances have of course changed with the coin. Now they can see each other more often and for longer if they want. But that opens up a whole other world of issues. What if Dwight suddenly pisses him off for some reason?
He's still not sure if he did or said something wrong before. Obviously it hadn't been enough to spark any anger with the man, but but the change in mood isn't just something Dwight imagined.

In the end, nothing happened. This time. But what about next time? When a couple in a normal, healthy relationship might have a lover's spat lead to heated words or maybe even broken stuff, a fight between Dwight and Evan might lead to broken limbs. And, in worst case, death. Yeah, it might not be permanent, but it still hurts as hell.

In truth, the balance of power between them is so skewed that they can never be equal. It's delusional to even picture such a scenario. And that's not a good foundation to build any sort of relationship on. But Dwight isn't sure what he can do to change that. If he can do anything.

 

 

 

 

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Dwight takes a long, round-about way back to camp, keeping close to the areas more "friendly" survivors frequents in hopes of avoiding trouble. He keeps an eye out for Adam, passing by several of his hideouts. He's adamant about giving back the coin before he can be drawn into trial and risk losing another one.

He finds him in conversation with Yui, the latter clearly upset. Not wanting to interrupt he keeps a respectable distance, hovering in the background, hoping for an opportunity to insert himself. But as they take no notice of him, he decides to give them space.

"Dwight! Are you looking for me?"

He spins around. "Adam! Yeah-well, no. Not really. I'm just..."

Yui throws a glance over her shoulder at him and frowns. Adam lowers his voice as he speaks to her, which is unnecessary not only because Dwight can't hear them from over there, but also because he knows they're speaking in Japanese. Yui inclines her head in agreement to whatever's being said. Then the former teacher turns his attention to him, sauntering over.

"What can I do for you?"

Dwight rubs a hand over his neck, feeling like an intruder. "Oh! N-nothing really, I just..." He makes sure Yui is out of sight. "... wanted to give this back to you."

"I see. Thank you."

"Thank you. F-for the loan, I mean."

"It is still fulfilling its purpose, I gather?"

It's a statement rather than a question and although phrased innocently enough, there's a hint of bitterness beneath the layer of politeness.

"Yeah?" he starts. "Why -"

Adam interrupts. "It is nice to see you Dwight. However, I have little time for conversation at the moment." He makes an apologetic gesture towards the general direction of Yui. "We will have to speak another time."

"O-oh. Yeah, sure. That's fine," Dwight assures him.

He doesn't want to pry into the other man's private business, but there's something nagging at the back of his head. Something's... off. It's not the first time that he gets the distinct feeling that something annoys Adam about the coin. Is it the fact that it's working for Dwight? Is the coin only supposed to work for the individual it's gifted to? But if that's the case, why would he even offer to loan it to him?

 

 

 

***************************

 

 

Notes:

 
 
It wasn't what Dwight was going for, but his questions and comments made Evan think of his time in the Entity's realm and having to act as a killer. So "do you like it" and "you must've been doing this for a long time" hits a lot differently for him. 
 

Chapter 15: Konnichiwa

Summary:

 
 
Another chapter I'm not really happy with, but just throwing it out there.

Posted on September 3, 2025.
 

 

 

~ Another day, another trial ~

 

 

 

If there is a God out there, they absolutely hate Dwight.



It's been trial after trial with hardly any breaks for days now. For every trial one of the other survivors go through, he seems to be doing three. Or sometimes four. He's exhausted. The brutal death and spiral of emotions that followed the trial with Ghost face, meeting Evan again and feeling perfectly safe and calm only to be whip-lashed into fear - all on the heels of Ace's verbal lashing and accusations, and now it's like he's being punished by the psycho powers ruling over them.

He needs a fucking break. But what does he get instead? Another trial.

The desolate grounds of some run-down temple or what have you, beneath a sky tinted rusty-red, are unfortunately well-known. Typically, the mere surroundings of a trial no longer spark any deep level of fear in him. After all, when you've been through the same rickety buildings or gruesome domains several dozen - if not hundred - of times, having explored every nook and cranny, it loses some of its potency.
The killers are what scare him. And just because a specific location might be tied to one of them in particular, doesn't have to mean it's the one they're being pitted against, allowing a glimmer of hope that it might be someone less torture-happy than some of the alternatives.

That being said, there are a few exceptions. Léry's Memorial Institute is a bit of an anomaly - rarely is another killer allowed to walk the eerie halls but the Doctor himself. Knowing how brutal the killer is and the fact that he keeps close to his precious hospital, the mere glimpse of the institute is enough to incite fear.

The locations reeking of feudal Japan, which, to Dwight's best guess, belongs to that Oni guy, also appears to be exceptions to the general rule. Maybe the other killers are a bit iffy about encroaching on a freaking demon's territory. He wouldn't blame them if that's the case.

It's not that the rage-driven giant is necessarily scarier than the other creatures, nor stronger or more savage, but he's definitely one of the more dangerous ones, seeing as Dwight has yet been able to find any weak points.
With the Doctor you can leverage his pride and arrogance, and with Ghost Face you can reduce his advantage of sneak-attacks by teaming up. Both of them are - or probably have been - human, and are burdened by all of what that entails - emotions, weaknesses, limitations.

But what weakness can be found in a demon? Somehow, he doubts a cross and sprinkling holy water is going to work.

Dwight clings to the hope that the Oni hasn't given up on the "strike" where he and a handful of others are refusing to actively participate in trials. Even so, in the back of his mind there's this constant feeling that the other shoe is about to drop. They can't rely on this continuing on forever. Sooner or later the killers will return to their old ways, spelling bad news when it comes to likes of the Shape and Oni, and good news (?) when it comes to the Doctor.



Rustle.



He swirls around at the unexpected sound, a shot of adrenaline surging through his body. Eyes dart over wild-grown bushes and tall trees with autumn coats, to finally linger on the crumbling stairs of stone, leading to the dilapidated building towering over the area. He tries to pin down the danger - ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

Finally, there's only one spot left to fall under his gaze - one that cannot be avoided forever. The sight is familiar, as ingrained in his mind as rust embedded in a knife - and just as unwelcome.
Even as heart-wrenching sobs pierces the quiet, he knows full-well they have no mouths with which to convey their anguish. It's a horrible illusion designed to provoke fear. It isn't real. Or whatever counts as "real" here. The weight of terror-filled gazes following his every move is just a trick, as paper-lanterns cast shadows over empty eye sockets.

It's as if the very souls of the people the statues are meant to represent are trapped inside the smooth, moss-infested stone. It's harrowing. Worse still, are the small ones - statues barely reaching his waist.

Maybe the multiple and continuous trials and deaths over such a short time makes him more sensitive than usual, but he hates this place.



Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.



Slowly, the tension in his body eases up, a forced calm as there's no immediate threat. He's alone. Vulnerable, a venomous voice hisses in his mind.

Although he hates being the first one to arrive, it won't be for long. It usually only takes seconds, or in some cases a few minutes, before the rest of the team shows up. As he contemplates hiding in the high grass on the outskirts of the temple as he waits, Jake materializes.

He sighs in relief. "Hey."

He receives a curt nod in reply, the other man busying himself taking in their surroundings. The short greeting stings a bit, but Jake is notoriously withdrawn and allows very few close, so he knows there's no reason to take it to heart.
It's been a while since the two of them teamed up and Dwight is unsure of his stance on the whole Ace and Jane debacle. Meg, who Jake is arguably closest to, has been very vocal in her support, but they might not share the same opinion.

There's no time to dig himself deeper into the ever-expanding hole of insecurity though, as the next team mate arrives. Jake exchanges a fleeting look with the newcomer, neither of them bothering with any hellos.

"Let's get it over with," Bill's gruff voice declares, arms crossed over his chest. He gives the impression of being unruffled, as if the trial is just a chore to get through before continuing on his day.

Jake looks less than thrilled but doesn't disagree. Dwight clears his throat. "Uh, right..."

Even before anyone started questioning where his loyalties lie, Dwight would rarely lead the team in trial - giving the nickname 'the leader' a rather ironic twist. He's more of a strategist. And not even that is always required. Oftentimes there's no need to change things up too much, simply relying on the same or similar methods and plans over and over.

When a killer and its tactics are new - that's when it's Dwight's time to shine!

There hasn't been a new killer in a while now, but that doesn't mean Dwight is no longer of any use. There is an incredible amount of different configurations a trial can consist of and he's spent a lot of time going over them in-depth.

How well a plan can be executed depends on a lot of factors; one being who makes up the team. Who can collaborate with whom? David and Felix could never work together and might even be a liability if coerced to do so, while David and Nea is a good team-up.
One also has to take their abilities into deliberation. Having Ash sneak around is a doomed effort while using him as a loud and obnoxious distraction can be a genius move.

At times, an individual's strengths can be negated by the environment. Meg can work wonders looping a killer around in a large open area, but trying to do the same in narrow halls is far too risky. So of course any well thought-out plan has to take the environment into consideration - with its inherent dangers, hiding places, advantages and disadvantages.

Lastly, the point most of them focus on, is of course the killers and all of what that entails. A plan has to account for all of these elements. Many of the survivors are incapable or unwilling to take charge, even without the added stress and fear of torture and death closing in. When that's the case, Dwight steps up.

"Okay, so, we're missing -" Before he can finish the sentence Kate jogs up to them. "Hi guys," she keeps her voice low. "Do we know who the big bad is?"

"Erm, no - not yet," Dwight starts. "But -uh- I think -"

"Ain't got time for chatter," the old man interrupts as he watches the area carefully. "It's dangerous stayin' out in the open."

Bill's right of course, but it still grates to be interrupted. Dwight desperately attempts to summon a bit of calm and steadiness in his voice. "It's probably the Oni - uh- samurai guy - and he feeds on blood, so we have to make sure he can't get one of us alone. We should split up in teams of two -"

The former soldier cuts him off again. "Hold up! I'm taking point - alone," he determines. "You kids stick together and watch yourself. Keep low 'n' quiet."

Bill has a good grasp on battle strategies, at least against other humans. After all, he's seen war. So there's no reason to feel offended that the plan is discarded (even though Dwight didn't even have time to lay out the whole strategy), unless, of course, the rejection has less to do with the plan itself and more to do with trusting the one who came up with it. Dwight clenches his jaw.

Eyeing the man's retreating back, Kate appears unhappy about her choices of remaining team mates. Jake grunts. "It's likely we'll face the Oni." Although they're of the same opinion, out of his mouth it sounds less like an agreement and more like a resigned conclusion. "Kate can come with me. Dwight, you should keep an eye on Bill."

"Uh, okay..." He's unsure of Jake's intention. Is it to make sure he won't have to team up with Dwight? Or does he know that Kate is averse to the idea and wants to spare her from having it said aloud? Dwight's had a somewhat cordial relationship with all three of them, but they're not friends - he won't pretend they are, and recent events have left his relationship with many of the other survivors strained. Is this how it's going to be, going forward? Maybe he's reading too much into things, like he's prone to do.

Kate mutters. "Come on then, let's go."

The image of them running off turns blurry as his eyes sting. He bites down hard on his lower lip, the tender skin breaking. Being left behind shouldn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. He tastes blood.

Looking in the direction Bill headed, he wants nothing more than to go 'screw it.' After all, if the man gets jumped by a blood-craving monster set on gorging himself and there's no one around to help - that's his problem. But his conscience won't allow it. After all, Bill doesn't deserve it.

Despite his age and obvious ailments, the old man is quick on his feet. Sure, he might not run as fast or jump through windows as easily as some of the others, but he's obviously still somewhat fit and trained. It takes a while to pin down his location. Bill takes notice of Dwight right away. Confirming his identity with a swift glance, he re-focuses on advancing while staying as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, he doesn't give Dwight a hard time for trailing him despite his earlier command.

When they see a generator, there's an unspoken agreement where Dwight starts fixing it while Bill stays guard. They're left unmolested as the repairs are finished - the machine sputtering to life. After, they continue onward, finding and mending another one.

A while later they come across Jake and Kate, the pair having done two generators as well without any interruptions. In Dwight's mind, it proves that the killer is indeed the Oni, and that he's still unwilling to engage with the survivors. Emboldened by the fact that the killer isn't pursuing them, all four decide to spread out and comb the area to find the last generator needed to power the gates open.

It doesn't take long before they convene once more, having scoured the grounds unsuccessfully. Kate squirms uneasily and mutters, "It has to be inside."

Dwight mutely agrees. The only spot left to search are the insides of the temple, so it figures the generator has to be there. Unfortunately, that's probably where the Oni is as well.

"I knew this was going too easy." Bill glowers at the desolated building. "Going to have to go up there."

"Be careful," Kate urges.

He wastes no time making his way up the hill, although it's steep enough to slow him down considerably. The atmosphere of the group turns agitated as they wait for him to sweep the ruins, on edge for the bellow of the demon's rage raining down on them. Thankfully, it stays silent. But it's apparent their luck's run out by the stormy expression on Bill's face when he returns.

"Goddamn horseshit," he curses. "Second window to the left. There's the generator." He spits on the ground. "And so's the son of a bitch."

"Great," Kate sighs. "Now what?"

Jake shuffles his feet. "I can create a distraction and draw him out," he offers reluctantly. "The rest of you can run in and get it done."

The others are on board ("I'm getting too old for this shit", Bill grunts. "But alright then, let's do it." Kate tries to put on a brave face. "I guess there's no other way"), but Dwight interjects. "I don't think that's a good idea. If we provoke him, he will attack."

Kate frowns. "So? What else can we do? It's not like we can just wait him out."

"I... think i-it's better -" he swallows. "That one of us sneaks inside."

Jake raises an eyebrow at that. "Where the killer is?"

"That's nuts!" Kate hisses, scared and a bit impressed by his unusual boldness.

"Both plans are shit," Bill retorts. "But I ain't poking the bear if there's no need." He considers the temple again, eyes roving over it. "One of the walls are completely blown out, going through there leaves you an easy target. Runnin' around the back though, there's a rip in one of the screen windows. Sneakin' through there leaves that big-ass statue between the generator and that bastard. Gotta admit it ain't much of a cover, but it's somethin'."

He doesn't state the obvious: even if the killer won't see them, there's no muffling the sounds of a generator being repaired.

Jake contemplates both of them. "It's risky," he says after a while. Bill hums. Dwight is sweating. "Who is going to execute this plan of yours?" There's an emphasis on the last word, daring them to appoint the perilous task to anyone else.

Bill squares his shoulders, a determined glint in his eyes. "I got this."

The old man has a tendency to put himself on the line in dire situations so it's not unexpected, but he's not nearly agile enough to get through the task without making any noise. Kate and Jake exchange a glance, clearly doubting his chances. Dwight waits a heartbeat. Two. Hoping one of them might volunteer. It soon becomes clear it won't happen.

"No," Dwight forces out. "There's - the plan - it... it should be me."

Jake relaxes a bit at that. Kate folds her arms and leans backwards as if wanting to get a better look at him, murmuring to herself "-does have balls of steel -". Even Bill is looking, face unreadable. Dwight blushes, not enjoying the attention.

None of them object and he crumples a bit when the weight of what he's about to do settles.

"Good luck, son."

Yeah, he's going to need it.



The Oni is huge. It's not like he didn't already know that, but he's never had the time to look him over. He's bigger than Evan, although not by a lot. His body is painted grey, at least, he thinks it's paint. It could've been used for camouflage, if not for the red mask with eyes glowing like burning coals being a dead-giveaway. The killer is collapsed against the only somewhat sturdy wall left of the temple, sitting cross-legged with a sword in his lap, hands resting on top of it.

Dwight squints through the rift in the screen, contemplating how to best approach the task. With the mask it's difficult to see the Oni's line of sight, but if he keeps low he should be able to get by unnoticed. He takes a fortifying breath and hunches down as he carefully steps through the broken screen wall. He stays as close to the ground as possible, movements slow and quiet. The room is sizeable, but with a huge demon in one corner it feels a lot smaller. Thankfully, a colossal statue stands in the middle, hiding him from view.

Just a little more - a little further.

Crunch.

He swears up a storm mentally, glaring down at his feet. A low grumble from the Oni makes him painfully aware that the gravel beneath his shoes gave away his position. He freezes to the spot, waiting for the tell-tale sound of the killer getting to his feet, ready for the hunt.
When there's nothing but silence, Dwight gathers courage to peer between the massive feet of stone.

The mask is turned in his direction. Fuck! He ducks quickly, heart beating like crazy. Any hope that he hasn't been found out is immediately squashed. The others are counting on him, but he's failed them before he even got to the goddamn generator! How can he be so useless?

Staying completely still, he waits for the fallout. He can't turn tail and run, there's no going back. He might as well press forward. Only a few more steps and he's close enough to crouch by the machine. That's when he hesitates. The killer knows he's there, but has so far done nothing. Will starting the repairs aggravate him into attacking? His hands shake as he forced them to comply. Keeping an ear trained to movements, the tinkering is deafening in the silence. Shockingly, the demon stays in place.

The repairs take a minute, perhaps two, but it feels like it's dragging out for eternity until the generator roars, followed by the loud opening of the gates in the distance. He flinches, sure it will spur the killer into action. He backs up hastily, uncaring about the noise his shuffling causes, but still keeping low to the ground, hoping that if the killer doesn't see him, he might not get angry enough to attack.

When he's almost reached the screen wall, he's shocked to see the Oni having risen to his impressive height, sword held casually at his side. Dwight doesn't stop to see if he intends to use it, rushing to the rift and throwing himself through it. He jogs down the steep hill, stumbling several times and almost falling. Two figures are running towards the exit, Bill comes up at Dwight's side as they sprint towards the gate.

Dwight can't stop himself from curiously looking over his shoulder, making sure they're not being followed. On the top of the hill a huge figure stands against the dusky sky. Passing through the gate he spots something that makes his steps falter - a bright dash of colour. Standing out in stark contrast to the rest of the killer's battle-ready attire, wrapped around the sword's handle, is a salmon-dyed ribbon, tail-end fluttering in the wind.  

 

 

 

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"Good job, son." Bill pats him on the shoulder after they've gone through the trial wash. "You're my new hero," Kate adds with a enthusiastic smile. "That was brave as hell!"

Even Jake offers some validation with a slightly less stony expression than usual. Dwight takes it all in with pride and relief. None of the others bother going through camp this time around - all heading in different directions. Dwight can't blame them. He wishes he had somewhere else to go as well. Normally, he might be tempted to go to Adam's shelter, but...

The camp is abuzz with loud discussions when he trudges through the patch of forest. Well aware of the possibility of being subjected to more scrutiny and a bombardment of questions, Dwight's heart sinks as he scrambles to get ready to defend himself.

However, his arrival barely sparks a glance. He's not sure what's happened that warrants grabbing pitchforks, but the almost bored expression on David's face and Nea rolling her eyes assures him that this is probably nothing too serious. He's not about to ask though, only too happy to be out of the spotlight.

Dwight slinks past them to sit down at his regular tree, hidden from view. He can't help but pick up bits of information here and there from the multitude of conversations going on simultaneously, and slowly a picture starts to form. Apparently someone made a derogatory comment about women - either all of them or maybe just those born biologically male who transitioned later in life, he's not sure - and it clearly triggered enough people that there's a manhunt on.

Nea's close enough to Dwight's tree that he can hear her saying something about solving the issue by "knocking the idiot out" next time she sees him. David hides a chuckle behind a cough. Who has managed to tick off like a third of the whole camp?

It's an unusual collection of people gathered. Yui is standing in a wide circle with Yoichi and Claudette, talking rapidly in a heated voice. Yoichi listens with a neutral facial expression, hands behind his back. Claudette's frowning as she's struggling to translate what's being said.

Close by, Élodie is gesturing animatedly as she speaks with Zarina. The latter's presence is a real shock to Dwight. Zarina has shown no inclination of involving herself with basically anything or anyone at camp, so why is she here? And apparently she understands French?

There's no Meg or Adam around, both of who often take the lead to try and resolve issues when they go nowhere. As the so called "leader", Dwight should probably calm down the situation, but he doesn't have the energy to involve himself in the drama - he gets enough of his share. He tries tuning out the chatter and get a bit of sleep, knowing he might not have long before getting taken again.

A few minutes later Élodie storms off, signalling most of them to disperse. Nea pulls down the beanie over her eyes and lies down on the ground, head resting against one of the logs. It looks wildly uncomfortable, but she doesn't seem to care. Claudette sits down on a log, eyes closed while she's rubbing her temple as if plagued by a headache. The last one to stay is Yoichi, who is impatiently pacing back and forth.

The silence is only broken by the muted crackling of the fire and the shuffling of leaves that crunch beneath Yoichi's shoes. Without looking in his direction Nea snarls; "Can you sit the fuck down?"

Claudette is about to intervene but any brewing strife instantly cuts off when Meg limps onto the scene. Bee-lining to the nearest log she sits down gingerly, as if her whole body aches. Experiencing phantom pains a minute or two after trial is not unusual. It's like the body can't always catch up fast enough to the fact that wounds closes up or limbs re-attach.

Nea sits up straight, pulling off the beanie and ruffles her hair a bit. "Who was the psycho?"

The red-head grimaces. "Ghost face."

Nea whistles low and shakes her head. Yoichi scouts the treeline, no doubt waiting for the others to emerge.

Meg grunts, dragging a hand down her face. "He was fucking brutal." That's hardly news to anyone, so their reactions to the statement range from mild to none. Her eyes turn hard as she reiterates her words. "I mean more than usual. He... fuck! I don't know."

With worry etched in her features, Claudette moves in closer, putting a comforting arm around her. Throwing a glance over Meg's shoulder she meets Yoichi's eyes reflecting the same concern. Meg's usually prone to display anger or bravado. None of them are used to seeing her like this. Even Nea seem a bit uneasy by it.

"He took Nancy," she spits out. "He... cut... I've never seen- fuck."

No one knows what to say to that, letting the silence fall again. Nea doesn't even berate Yoichi when he takes up his pacing.

A quiet sobbing grabs their attention. Meg flies up as Steve comes into view. Nancy is hidden under his arm, pressed against his chest, her face obscured. Dwight stays behind his tree but watches the scene with morbid curiosity. The teenagers are obviously not in the mood to talk, proceeding to gingerly move past them. "It's okay, you're okay, it's over," Steve murmurs to Nancy, who just cries harder. Dwight feels a stab of pity. She's been nothing but kind to him.

Meg looks gutted. Claudette wrings her hands nervously. Hopefully, whoever the fourth one is, will die quickly.

They wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, Nea can't take it and flies up on her feet. "What is the fucker doing?" Her whole body appears to vibrate, as if filled by adrenaline. Dwight doesn't doubt for a second that if she saw the killer in front of her right now, she would do her best to beat the crap out of him.

Yoichi says something and Claudette barely has the time to reply before he disappears. Summoned. At least he won't have to go up against Ghost face, the killer obviously busy.

They continue to wait. They don't have any way of telling the time, but seriously, it must've been like half an hour or something since Nancy and Steve went through.

"You don't think he's been..." Claudette trails off, but they all hear the unspoken word. Taken.

Breaching the greenery all of the sudden is a tall figure. Clad in his signature beige coat, the man stumbles forward. "Adam!" Claudette rushes over.

"I am ... well," He assures with a faint smile. Yeah, no one's buying that. But not every experience in trial is something one wants to share, so no one hounds him for any details.

He still allows her to steady him. "Come on, let's go back," she urges.

Meg blocks their path. "I'm sorry." Her voice is heavy with regret. "I should've recognized he used Nancy as bait. If I had, I wouldn't have gone down so fast."

"It is not anyone's fault." Adam pats her shoulder. "You attempted to save her life. That is admirable." The words of comfort are characteristic of him, but there's a shaky undertone, as if he's close to a break-down.

"Yeah, but if I'd known he'd-"

"Meg," Nea gently pulls her aside. "Stop blaming yourself. You're not psychic, you couldn't have known."

"We're going back to get some rest," Claudette interjects, concern about her friend still at the forefront of her mind.

Meg sighs dejected as they leave. Nea grits her teeth, hands formed into fists, as if just dying to get her hands on the masked killer. "Fuck this!" She shouts. "Ugly face is a dick. So what? The trial's over! That fucker's back to being alone, crying about not getting enough attention and jerking off with his own fucking knife."

Meg's eyes widen before she snorts. "Thanks for that image."

"Come, let's get a move on. I'm not sitting here until I'm grabbed. I need to let off some steam."

"Uhuh. And what did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking about paying Felix a visit...", she trails off ominously.

"Nea-" Meg starts with a tone of warning.

"I just wanna give him a piece of my mind."

"This is a bad idea," Meg mutters.

"Hey, if he can dish it out, he better be ready to take it."

The two women starts leaving the camp as they continue talking, but are now so far away that Dwight can hear what they're saying. That explains who has gotten on everyone's bad side - and it's not at all surprising. Dwight almost feels bad for Felix, at least until he remembers the trial they shared recently and the man's attitude.

Maybe the guy does deserve a visit from Nea.

 

 

 

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Trials and Tribulations