The Lab Rat of Dr. Herman Carter

by raspberryminnowpond

Summary:

Assistant to Dr. Carter, Dwight is used to undergoing cruel experiments in the name of science. He is used to the annual blight seasons, when the Entity falls asleep and the agony of the pustula plants are studied. Dwight is used to blood and pain and misery.

But this season is different. The assistant is set in the path of a charming cowboy, curious survivors and the effects of a new blight flower variation. The motivations of the realm's inhabitants are warped and shifted, including Dwight, who seeks his freshly unearthed desires for friendship, romance and freedom.

Chapter 1

Dwight pushed the thick, black glasses up his nose. His heavy breath fogged up the already foggy lenses. He wore a long off-white lab coat that was consistently coated in dirt and blood. His satchel chimed heavily with empty collecting tubes, jars, and extracting instruments.  He held his bag to his side, ignoring the way the instruments dug into his ribs as he ran. His heart was beating wildly, the sound of a chainsaw revving up in the distance behind him as the killer roared in guttural anger.

Luckily, as Dwight found cover behind a huge boulder, it seemed he’d lost his pursuer. 

Dwight wasn’t allowed in this realm. He had no reason to be running for his life through a cornfield. But it wasn’t his fault, either! He was chased! Max had suddenly attacked him on the border of his farm, and Dwight had no choice but to run further into the area. But the Doctor wouldn't care. He’d be at fault no matter the circumstances and pay the bitter price. 

Dwight was shaking as he imagined being strapped to cold metal. The pain of injections and the bruises that came with hard, calloused hands, pinching his flesh to jab the needle and spread all kinds of agony. 

Trembling, Dwight sunk against a rock, hoping that Max might cool off and he could sneak back home. He would have to try and find what the doctor wanted on the way back. Otherwise, it would be best to let Max just kill him. The sound of the chainsaw suddenly erupted not several feet away, and Dwight ducked flat to the ground. Max ran passed, tearing up the ground and stalks as he searched. 

Shit. 

Dwight shrunk back further into the field. further into the forbidden territory. His heart felt like it was being pulled in two - one in terror of disobeying and one in terror of being ripped to shreds. Though death wasn’t permanent, Dwight had only experienced it a handful of times. 

Carter saved death as a very special punishment. It was horrific. It was agony. It was hell. Dwight snuck away, tail between his legs, until the sounds of the killer grew fainter. He decided to take a moment, check his wound, and then take the long way back. 

He skirted the edge of the field until he reached trees. The area was only slightly familiar, but Dwight wasn’t sure which killer neighbored Max. He got his answer when someone stepped on a stick behind him. Dwight whirled around to find a wicked-looking rifle in his face. He went pale and breathless. 

“Alright you little-” The tall man paused, rifle suddenly falling to aim at his feet. Better than his head, yes, but Dwight still took a timid step back, fearful for his toes. 

“Hey, wait a second,” the cowboy drawled. “Ain’t you that funny little fella from the doctor’s place? What are you doing here? If Carter wants another favor, tell him to shove it up his ass. I ain’t got no desire to deal with his crazy right now.”

Dwight could only swallow thickly, eyes trained on the sharp blade of the gun. It had a chain hanging from its side, heavy and dark and with a reel to drag in prey. Dwight couldn’t control his trembling. The cowboy snorted and raised the gun onto his shoulder. It now aimed at the sky. 

“Carter take your tongue, boy?” The cowboy asked. “What are you doing here?” 

Dwight stammered, pointing behind him and back again in a jumble of unintelligible words. “I mean - I- I… Max just kind of attacked me.”

The cowboy raised a skeptical brow. “Max? No way. That bastard is harmless. Hates hurtin’ the survivors as much as he hates the spider.”

“I’m not lying,” Dwight said maybe a bit too defensively. He reeled back in fright when the cowboy raised a hand, but it was only to wave it in a gesture of dismissal. 

“Now, I didn't say ya were. I just meant it’s strange is all. Entity could be messing with his head.” The cowboy’s voice lowered a bit, becoming darker. “Lord knows what she can do to me.”

Dwight took another step back. “I’m really sorry for bugging you! Um, I'm just gonna…”

“Now, come on, I didn’t mean to scare ya,” The cowboy said. “If Max is having an episode, best to let him be. You can rest here if ya want.”

Dwight gave him a cautious look before turning to glance at the nearby corn. “I shouldn’t be here, actually,” he admitted softly. He gripped his satchel with white knuckles. “C-can you not tell him? Please?” 

“Who? Carter?” Dwight nodded. The cowboy grinned, lopsided and crooked. “He’s a mean son of a bitch, ain’t he?”

Uncomfortable, Dwight stared at his feet, nodding. “Sometimes.”

He nearly jumped ten feet in the air as a firm hand clapped on his shoulder. The cowboy was still grinning, but with him so close, towering over Dwight’s quivering form, the lack of malice was obvious. 

“Anyone who puts up with Carter is a tough son of a bitch.”

Dwight’s heart thrummed once. He blinked, a bit shocked at the out-of-nowhere compliment. He wasn’t tough. He was a coward. His face still went hot with blood. The cowboy chuckled and Dwight’s face went even more red. He covered it up with two shaky hands. 

“I do what I have to to help the doctor,” Dwight muttered. 

The warm, heavy hand gave Dwight’s shoulder two more pats before the cowboy began to walk down the border of his territory. Dwight looked up in question but was only gestured to follow. 

“Come on, boy. I’ll take ya around Max’s territory.”

Dwight took a moment before bounding forward. He tripped over himself to catch up with the cowboy’s long strides. The sounds of crunching leaves underfoot filled the silence. Dwight nervously played with his satchel. The cowboy glanced down at him. 

“I’m Caleb by the way. Caleb Quinn.”

“Oh!” Dwight looked up, wide-eyed. He’d never gotten a name before. The only ones he knew were his own, Dr. Carter’s and a few of the doctor’s colleagues (and enemies). And now Caleb Quinn. What a normal sounding name for a strange-looking man. 

“You got a name, or should I just keep callin’ ya ‘ boy’ ?” 

“D-dwight,” he said, immediately regretting it. Would Carter be mad? Dwight already entered an area that was off-limits. Would the Doctor know? Did he know already?

“Hey, calm down, Dwight,” came a gruff voice. Dull, gray eyes blinked down at the lab assistant, who registered the hands on his shoulders seconds later. “You’re workin’ yerself into a fit. You’re more jumpy than the survivors.”

Right, this was a killer. Who killed survivors for the Entity. Dwight wasn’t at all familiar with the specifics of the rituals. Dr. Carter didn’t see any point in explaining them. But here was a killer, comforting Dwight, face pinched like he was worried over his too-quick breaths. Doctor Carter thought his anxiety was endearing. Caleb seemed to think it was worrying. Dwight found it odd. 

“I’m fine, I’m sorry - I just - I’m nervous to go back. I was supposed to collect pig flesh for Doctor Carter and….” He looked hopelessly at the Hillbilly’s territory.

“Eh, there’s some carcasses real close up ahead,” Caleb said, standing straight. “I’ll fetch ya a few strips, then Carter’ll have nothin’ to piss himself over.”

That got a small laugh from Dwight, imagining the powerful doctor doing something terribly embarrassing. It was quickly eaten by intense guilt.

“If you could, I’d owe you my life!” Dwight said sincerely. 

Caleb laughed. “Sure, sure, it ain’t a problem. Not if it’s for someone as cute as you.”

Dwight stopped in his tracks. The cowboy kept walking, whistling a tune, acting oblivious to the paralysis that had trapped Dwight. Face hotter than it’d ever been, confusion running rampant, Dwight jogged to catch up. Caleb didn’t say anything else and Dwight was too embarrassed to. 

His heart felt funny. He tried not to think about it until Caleb asked him to wait, then headed into the brush of the Max’s territory. Dwight hunkered under a tree, mind whirling. He jumped at the sound of a shot, and the clink of a coiling chain. Moments later, Caleb returned, a hand drenched in blood and carrying two thick pieces of meat. Dwight jumped up, ecstatic, profusely thanking the cowboy as he put them into empty jars. 

“You saved my hide, you have no idea!” Diwght gushed. “If you ever need a favor, you can ask. I can’t do much, but I’ll try!” 

Caleb shook his head with a small grin. “Nah, I don’t expect nothin’. Not sure how much Carter’ll like me talking to ya anyway, and I’d hate to put ya in more trouble.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dwight said. It was kind of disappointing, but logical. “Um thanks again. Can I ask… I mean, not if you don’t want to answer, but-”

“Ask away,” Caleb leaned forward, swooping a bit close to Dwight’s face. He shied back, palms suddenly sweaty. 

“Oh, um… well, why do you care? I mean, I meant by that-”

“I’m not a monster,” Caleb said simply. “A lot of killers like to kill, but I only enjoy the screams of bastards. Not someone asking for help.”

“Oh…” 

Caleb didn’t elaborate. Dwight wanted him to, but he’d run out of courage to ask any more questions. He just tagged along until he saw the familiar edge of the Doctor’s territory. It was a bummer to leave the cowboy. Caleb told him to stay clear of Max’s area for a bit, promising that the chain-saw wielding man would return to normal eventually. 

“Max is a good guy,” Caleb said without a hint of irony. “He just got the shit end of the life stick. He’s attacked me before, but I can tell ya that he wasn’t in the right mind. Didn’t even recognize me.” He paused, considering. “Listen, Dwight. About that favor ya promised…”

Dwight’s stomach dropped. “Y-yeah?” 

“Can ya tell your doctor that Max didn’t attack ya? Carter don’t bug me, but I know he bullies Max sometimes.”

“Oh,” Dwight had expected a different request. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, just not that. While he didn’t like lying to the doctor, it was a small white lie. And Caleb did get the pig meat…

“Sure. I can do that!” he smiled up at the cowboy. “And thanks again. You have no idea how much you helped me.”

Caleb reached up, tussling his hair as he walked passed. “I don’t mind. Maybe I’ll see ya around, Dwight.”

Dwight watched him go, the goodbye drying up on his tongue. His gut squirmed, the heat of the cowboy’s touch lingering on his scalp. After another ten seconds of being frozen in confusion, Dwight hugged the satchel to his chest and ran home to his Doctor.

 

---

 

The assistant was once more back in the woods. He had been sent back out to collect more meat. Dwight shouldn’t have let his feet lead him back towards Max’s territory. There were other places to find dead animals, and yet, here he was, secretly hoping to see a certain killer again. Against this hope, was an onslaught of panic. Dr. Carter would be very upset to know his thoughts. 

Traitorous. Unfocused. Disloyal. 

The panic should have been leading him away from the cowboy’s border. But Dwight told himself that he needed pig carcasses, and though he hadn’t seen Max yet, he still didn’t feel safe enough to collect meat at the tree. He figured he could take from that pile Caleb pulled from.

If he happened to run into the cowboy, it wouldn’t be technically breaking the rules, right? Because he was only trying to return the samples safely, and you couldn’t do that with a chainsaw through the chest, Dwight reasoned to himself. 

The carcasses were signaled by the buzzing of flies. A bit disappointed to find his quarry so quick. With no more reason to stay, he decided to take his time cutting perfectly rectangular pieces, kneeling in the dirt and letting his legs have a rest. 

Especially his left leg, which had gotten a nasty cut from yesterday. He hadn’t even noticed it until he got home and the blood had dried to the inside of his pants. It wasn’t too painful, but his leg felt stiff and achy. When he was done, he sat back on his haunches and looked straight up. He didn’t want to get up. Not quite yet. 

In this territory, the sky was a bit lighter. It was always so dark at the Institute. He watched a crow circle overhead. Those creepy things were harder to spot in the Doctor’s realm too. 

“Well then, if it ain’t the pig collector.” 

Dwight whipped around so fast, he almost fell. Caleb laughed, his gun fell over his shoulder and a hand draped in his pant’s pocket. He wandered over as Dwight scrambled to his feet, but he forgot about his leg and gasped as he fell to his side. Caleb cocked his head. 

“Easy to get wounded out here. You need a hand up?” 

“No, I’m okay. Just a cut I forgot about,” Dwight waved it off, sucking in the resulting pain of easing up and dusting himself off as casually as he could. Caleb just hummed. A moment of awkward silence passed between them. Caleb gestured jerkily behind him. 

“I hope I ain’t comin’ off to forward nor nothin’,” he began. “But you’re more than welcome to take a sit at my saloon. I ain’t had a card partner in a while. Not since Evan got sick a’losing.” He chuckled. 

Dwight nodded before he could stop himself. Stupid, stupid! Dr. Carter will kill you! 

Caleb’s brow quirked, put off by the sudden paleness and stricken fear across Dwight’s face. 

“Or not,” Caleb drawled. “I ain’t plannin’ on killin’ ya if that what’s your frettin’ over. You ain’t a pest like those survivors. They’re always messin’ in my things, stealin’ and trashin’.”

“I wasn’t worried over that,” Dwight assured him, hands up. 

“Ah. Good.”

He knew about survivors, knew about their games, but he’d yet to ever see one of them. At least, up close. He’d seen faces in passing - one or two strangers that he’d always been quick to hide from. The Doctor always talked about survivors like mice in a maze. Things to scare, maim and kill for research. 

“I just.. I shouldn't be talking to you,” Dwight admitted after the awkward beat of silence. “Dr. Carter would be upset if he found out.”

Caleb nodded. “I know how the Doctor is, boy. But he ain’t omnipresent. If you wanna play a game or two, he’d be none the wiser.”

Dwight paused. He expected Caleb to just nod and walk away. When he said that, it was almost convincing. His gut twisted guiltily. He gave his head a nervous shake, looking anywhere but the cowboy. 

“I w-want to, but I’d get in trouble.”

“I get it,” Caleb said. “Wouldn’t want to be in trouble with the Doctor either. ‘Course,” the cowboy’s tone shifted as he grinned and pulled a deck from his pocket. “One round’ll go under his nose. If ya like.”

Dwight found himself sitting on a log, Caleb teaching him the basics of the game poker. He claimed it was better with a whole room of people to play, watch and bet, a distant twinkle in his eye as he shuffled and cut. Dwight quickly learned what ‘poker face’ meant, and that he didn’t have one. 

Dwight’s tongue stuck out as he learned the rules. He was a quick learner and beamed every time Caleb praised him for his smarts. It was nice, sitting in the grass and not (read: trying not to) worry. 

Caleb suddenly sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, Dwight.” 

The poor assistant’s heart stuttered. Nothing good ever started with that sentence. He looked up, probably failing to hide his worry as Caleb offered him a nervous, reassuring smile. 

“There really is nothin’ in this damned realm worth anything. I know you’re Carter’s boy, and how annoying of a bastard he could be… But I’m just gonna come out and say it - I think you’re an attractive fella. Damn cute. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ of ya last night.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”

Oh.

Oh…

Oh! 

Dwight’s eyes went wide. He shook his head as if to clear it. His face was hot as fire and his heart was thumping up his throat. “W-what d-do you mean? Me? Oh no, I’m not- that’s-” Dwight fully turned away, both a little freaked out and oddly complimented. 

“I’m comin’ on too strong,” he heard Caleb say apologetically. He scratched the back of his head, his wide-brimmed hat tilting forward to hide the slight darkening of his face. “It’s been too long. All I’m sayin’ is, I like yer company. If you ever wanna play another round a’ cards, or have a visit, I wouldn't complain.”

Dwight couldn’t look Caleb in the eyes. His body tingled with guilt, the pull of it as grating as a knife to flesh. But there was another feeling. A warmth that resembled anxiety, tickling his chest. He cleared his throat before making a very bold decision. 

“Y-yeah. Um, I’d like to see you again. I like you too.”

Caleb’s crooked jaw shifted into a wide grin. He looked relieved. “Alright then. Next time you have the freedom, keep heading into my land until everything turns to dirt and wooden shacks.”

He doubted he’d find the time anyway, so it wasn’t like he was agreeing to anything anyway. That seemed reasonable enough, so he nodded. Just to be polite.

“I’m on trial soon, so I need to go prepare,” Caleb said. 

Dwight eyed the rifle. He knew about trials, but Dr. Carter never bothered to explain the specifics to him. Dwight also knew not to ask annoying, pointless questions. So before he could ask what Caleb had to prepare for, to know what Dr. Carter did when he disappeared in that fog, Dwight stopped himself. Caleb probably didn’t like stupid questions either. 

“Alright, I’ll see you soon,” Dwight said. 

Caleb nodded once and disappeared into the forest. Dwight was already pushing his luck on time. He bit his lip, worry strewn in all directions, as he started jogging back. Along the way, Max waved at him. The killer was near his barn, standing there without his chainsaw. 

The killer usually ignored him, and Dwight took this as an apology for his outburst. He waved back and smiled, feeling a bit chipper. Max perked up and his wave became a bit more energetic, before he limped inside the barn. 

Dwight hurried home to his Doctor.

Chapter 2

Dwight never got the chance to take Caleb on his offer. Blight season had arrived only days later, and Dr. Carter was always in a frenzy to learn about the pulsating flowers that grew strictly during this timeframe. It was also during this period that the Entity seemed to slumber. Trials ceased, and the Doctor was given plenty of free time to carry out his ideas. For Dr. Carter, this was an exciting time.

For Dwight, this was a dangerous time. Some killers could get infected, one way or another, and lose their minds for the entirety of the season. Dr. Carter called it a “killer frenzy”. Dwight was no stranger to them. His Doctor had needed to study the effects on an unmutated human.

It was why, when he walked into the lab that day and saw the blighted flowers, Dwight froze. The flowers weren’t orange like they usually were. These ones were a dark red, the tips of the petals black and withered. Dwight tried to hide his shaking nerves. The Doctor saw him and laughed, the room lighting up with excited electricity. 

“Dwight! Come, come. Look at this!” He hurried over to the table, hands gesturing in a grand show around the flowers. 

Dwight forced an interested smile. “I’ve never seen that color,” he settled on saying. 

“These flowers must have received richer nutrients from the soil,” Dr. Carter began, one of the many long-winded talks, meant for himself (though Dwight was still expected to nod along and listen).

“I theorize they’ll make the killer frenzy more potent. Go to the theatre room and get suitable for the experiment. I’ll be down soon. I’m almost finished making the first batch of this serum.”

It always felt like a death sentence, no matter how many times he walked down the twisting halls, looking for the signs that would lead him to the theatre room. He went without question, head down, forced to accept an inevitable fate. 

The room itself was cold. Unlike the surgical room, this one had a wide glass wall to section off the observing area. Dwight could see Dr. Carter up there, busying himself with the plant. 

Dwight pulled off his lab coat, folding it neatly outside the door. Anything that could be used to hurt himself was removed. No ties, no shoes, and especially not the pen he used to scribble reminders on his palm. He went inside and locked himself in. There was nothing but a drain in the middle of the floor. 

Hidden vents were placed in the ceiling. Dwight eyed the almost-invisible seams uneasily, jumping when Dr. Carter knocked on the glass, several feet over Dwight. He beamed at his assistant from behind the glass, his large hand quivering excitedly as he plugged the vial of red serum into the control panel. 

There was a bolt, a hiss, and the contents began to drain. The vents slid open and, in a thick fog of crimson mist, the pustula flower was released into the air. 

Dwight, despite his body resisting the action, took heavy breaths. This was better than being injected. The Doctor preferred needles, but directly injecting humans with concentrated pustula serum often burned away their veins, making it difficult to get a proper infection of the body. The gas made his lungs burn, but the needles in his throat were much more bearable than melting arteries. 

He expected the anger. Anger and frustration and hatred that bubbled up when the orange pustula serum was used. But this red fog felt immediately different. Dwight was swamped in a cold wave of vertigo. He stumbled, shaking his head as his hand struggled to run through his hair. 

He can’t remember where he is or what’s doing. There’s no pain. He felt floaty and dizzy and a little nauseous. Dwight dry-heaved, eyes closed, and tried to remember why he’s here. 

What was he doing….?

He nods. That’s right. He does remember. He is on shift at his job. 

I was delivering pizzas. Shit, I must have gotten sick… I need to…to… 

He looks up, grabbing at a red satchel full of pizza, one that isn’t there. The door in front of him isn’t metal anymore. It’s wooden, sitting under the dim street lamps of a residential neighborhood. Dwight stands, looking around nervously at the seemingly empty houses, then back to the door.

He walks over and hesitates. His hand fumbled with the bag as he repositiond it and knocks one-handed, and waits. No one answers and he knocks again, hoping he doesn’t seem too impatient. 

A few moments later, the door opens with a heavy groan. Dwight jumps at the stranger. A balding man wearing a white sweater and sporting a too-big smile. Dwight’s voice pitches into its customer service tone as slides the pizza box out and offers it. 

“Here you are, sir! One large cheese. That’s fifteen-twenty.”

The man’s smile doesn’t falter. His head tilts a little and he keeps staring. Dwight looks over his shoulder uneasily, wondering if he’s missing something. 

“Um, is this the right address? You ordered a pizza, right?” Dwight asks warily. The man opens his mouth. Instead of words, it’s just the sudden wail of buzzing static. Dwight jumps, almost dropping the pizza. He apologizes. 

“Um, sorry, sorry! What was that?” 

The man pauses for several seconds then leans in. Dwight takes a step back, wide-eyed. More static falls between those bright-white teeth. The stranger walks from the doorway. When he reaches out, Dwight makes a run for it. No way is he dying in the middle of a shift. His asshole of a manager will just have to accept that he lost a pizza. 

Dwight just barely ducks under the man’s grasp. His body is coated in a wash of mild static, but he attributes it to adrenaline as his feet hit pavement and he takes off down the street. Where is his car? He parked right next to the fucking sidewalk, didn’t he? He runs for a house. The first one he reaches, the door is locked and no one answers his pounding. 

No one on the street even looks. No lights turn on. He turned and that stranger was standing only feet away. Dwight almost fell over in fright. His back pressed into the door. The stranger spoke again. The static burned Dwight’s ear-drums. 

The stranger grabbed the pizza delivery man by the wrist and tried to tug him off the porch, back towards his house. Dwight screamed and kicked and flailed. The stranger, for some reason beyond him, seemed surprised, and his grip was just slack enough for Dwight to hit the ground and run. 

He was too out of his mind in fear to give the change in scenery much thought. The residential houses were gone. His feet tore through leaves and roots, while branches snapped at his face. The forest was thick and dark. When he dared to look over his shoulder, the stranger was gone. Dwight kept running another several minutes until he was dying for breath. He hid behind a stump, grabbing his heart. 

“Fuck, where am I?” he thought desperately. 

It's nighttime. His phone wasn’t on him. Neither was his key ring, which he kept his tiny flashlight on. 

He froze when he heard a noise. He peeked over the stump, eyes lighting up in surprise at the line of dangerously sharp stones sitting on a tree stump’s flat top. How odd. He grabbed one. Just in time, as that stranger came from around a tree, seemingly out of thin air. 

Dwight screamed and slashed the pointed end of the stone. The stranger jumped at him. He closed his eyes and kept swinging his arm blindly. 

Pain pierced his body. Dwight almost choked on it. He slashed and stabbed the air in a wilder frenzy. Another burst of agony had him stumbling forward. How was this man hurting him? Dwight wasn’t able to hit him at all!

He fell over. A strong grip snapped around his wrist, holding the stone in the air. Dwight struggled, then froze, staring up at the familiar face of Caleb. He opened his mouth to ask why he was here, but all that came out was a sob. He didn’t care. He sank into the taller man’s chest, crying, as a hand pet the top of his head. 

 

---

 

In the middle of a room, with tools strewn all over the floor and blood smeared along the wall, Dr. Carter let Dwight sob into his lab-coat. His assistant was covered in self-inflicted stab-wounds. The scalpel in his hand was bloody. Dr. Carter grinned as he pet Dwight’s bloody hair, letting him come down from his episode. 

This had been an interesting turn of results. And still, there were plenty more tests to be done. 

After the hallucination, Dwight felt different. 

He didn’t remember what he was running from, or what had scared him so badly that he’d stabbed himself nine times. But he remembered Caleb. That damned cowboy had suddenly popped into his mind and he felt safe and calm and okay. He had become lucid, and Caleb’s face changed to Dr. Carter’s. 

Dwight didn’t feel safe anymore. His servile admiration for the Doctor had shifted. The fear was more vibrant and lively. He wasn’t sure that it was mad brilliance in those peeled back eyes anymore, but simply madness in its purest form. Dwight tried to ignore it, tried to go back to being a good assistant and clean up the mess he made in his terror. 

Dr. Carter was annoyed that he couldn’t recall the hallucination. Dwight purposefully didn’t tell him about the Caleb part, the one piece he did recall . That seemed like a bad idea. But keeping his mouth shut meant more experiments. But more experiments meant more red serum. More red serum, meant finding more of those red flowers. 

Dwight wasn’t surprised when he was sent out the next day. He was to stay out until he found more red pustula. He sent Dwight towards the Hag’s territory. She would kill him on sight, but that was where the Doctor had found the red cluster of flowers before. 

Normally, Dwight would be fighting against his fear with thoughts of making his Doctor proud. Today, he felt sick, wondering why he was doing this in the first place. The forest got darker the further he walked. The ground was uneven and roots grew like snakes from the soil, trying to break his ankle every few feet.

His stab wounds were still healing. The wound on his thigh still hurt with every press against the other thigh. Normally, Dwight would feel a burst of pride, bearing the scars of his suffering - as if it was something to be proud of, something that proved his worth to the Doctor. 

Pain, as scary as it was, also meant he’d done something worthwhile. At least, it should. 

His head kept going back to Caleb. If he found the flowers in a short amount of time, something he highly doubted, he could go to his territory for another card game. That, and it was nice to talk to someone who let him talk back. 

Soon, each step sunk into the earth. It became wet. A swamp surrounded him, thick with hanging moss and the trill of large insects. Dwight’s ankles submerged into green water, and he knew he reached the right territory. He may have been clumsy, but he could be quiet and careful when he needed to be. When he heard the approaching sound of people, he stopped walking. 

Dwight sunk down quickly and silently. He blinked at the group of humans. He’d seen survivors before, but from far away and only in fleeting glimpses. These ones were being pretty loud and obvious. He had no idea how they made it this far from their own territory. There was a lot of killer land to trek through. 

They seemed less gloomy than one would expect a group of damned souls to act. They were smiling and laughing, chasing each other through the reeds and climbing over the roots like children playing tag. 

Dwight stared. He should have gone a different way, but he stared, if only because he was shocked. One of the women was grinning ear to ear as she talked. Beside her, one of the men was snickering at her story. Dwight leaned in. 

How could they seem so carefree?` Didn’t they serve as sacrifice? Wouldn’t it be hellish to be in their position? 

He almost wanted to go out and say hi. They looked nice enough. He didn’t think they would kill him. But the Doctor would skin him alive regardless. This would be breaking a rule. Dwight gulped. 

The Doctor won’t know … and besides, It’s not like he won’t hurt me anyway, he thought bitterly. 

Wiping down his coat and the blue sweater beneath, Dwight made sure he looked somewhat decent. This would probably be the last time in a while he saw survivors. He wished he wore his nice pants. He hid the pain in his movements and crept forward to wait beside the bushes as the group unknowingly approached. 

There were three women and one blonde man. The closer they got, the more excited Dwight felt. They looked like regular people, just like him. No monsters warped by the Entity to kill and maim. 

He stepped onto the path while they were still a safe distance away. The group stopped in jarred shock, while Dwight awkwardly coughed into his fist and waved. 

“Hello,” Dwigh began, when no one said a word. They looked ready to bolt, like rabbits watching a wolf in a poorly made bunny-suit. “Um, you’re being awfully loud… I just thought I should tell you. Lisa isn’t in any right mind to rationalize.”

One of the women - dark skinned, tall, with her thick hair pulled into a purple head scarf - stepped forward. She had a huge rolled up map across her back, and had been actively taking notes while walking. Dwight caught a glimpse. It looked like she was mapping out the territories. 

“Lisa?” This woman asked, eyeing Dwight up and down. He couldn’t blame her. 

“Oh, you mean the Hag?” Another survivor stepped forward, hair shaved on one side and a large leather satchel draped over her shoulder. She seemed a lot less wary of Dwight, though no less surprised by his appearance. “The cannibal woman?” 

He heard a few other killers call her “Hag”, but it never sat right with Dwight. From what he knew, Lisa’d been tortured into her state. 

“Um, yeah, her,” Dwight said. “Lisa.”

“She’s not here,” the short-haired woman waved him off. “We waited for her to disappear into a trial. We’re safe.” She paused, eyes narrowing. Not with distrust, but intense interest. “Who are you?” 

No Lisa. That put Dwight much more at ease. He debated telling them his name, as he figured he had to throw out some trust to earn some. “I’m Dwight.”

“Dwight,” the short-haired woman stepped forward. Her friend tried to grab her wrist and pull her back, but she easily danced out of the way. Her hand shot out, waiting for Dwight to take it. 

“I’m Zarina. These are my friends - Elodie and Felix.”

Dwight smiled and shook her hand. It was smaller than his. He couldn’t recall the last time he wasn’t being towered over by a monster. The other two didn’t step forward, but at the contact and lack of terrible death, they seemed to relax.

“What are you doing in the Entity’s Realm? You look like a survivor, but…?” Zarina stepped back in front of him. 

Dwight wasn’t sure if he should tell them what he did. Afterall, Dr. Carter did kill these people, and talked in great glee of their deaths. But the mystery of the trials and what they exactly entailed had always been eating at Dwight. These people could quench that constant curiosity. 

“Not a survivor, no. I actually never met a survivor before,” Dwight said. “What are trials like?” 

“Oh no, we asked you first,” Zarina wagged a finger at him. “What’s your role here, Dwight?” 

“I’m a researcher,” he answered honestly. 

“Of what?” 

He grinned, and wagged a finger back at her. “Answer for an answer.”

Zarina nodded. “Sounds fair to me.”

“Hold on,” Fleix stepped over and took Zarina by the shoulders, stepping her back a few feet from Dwight. He visibly relaxed when she wasn’t within striking distance of him. “Sorry, but you can’t be too careful. We don’t know him and the last time you trusted a bunny, it tried to kill you.”

“If you don’t look them in the eyes, they won’t bother you,” Dwight said. He got a few funny looks, but then Elodie stepped around Felix with a notepad in her hands. 

“Wait, guys, let me ask Dwight a few things. He’s obviously been around, and you might be able to help us. How about… I ask three things, you ask three things?” 

“Okay,” Dwight nodded. He didn’t like that they were scared of him, but he liked the attention and being negotiated with. It made him feel important. “You go first.”

“Alright. Why are you here and what are you researching?” 

“I’m researching the pustula flowers,” Dwight said. He almost admitted to being assistant to Dr. Carter, but thought better of it. At least until he learned how they felt about the good Doctor. They might want nothing to do with him. 

“Pustula… pustula. Why is that familiar?” Felix muttered, scratching his chin. 

“The blight season is when they come out,” Dwight said. “The bright orange flowers.”

“Blight season? I like that a lot better than Nasty Flower Season,” Zarina said. “Those things stink up the whole camp. How do you even study them without….” a look of true fear finally crossed her face. “You know, turning.”

“Gloves,” Dwight said. 

Elodie snorted, then forced herself to keep a straight face. “Okay, yeah, fair enough. But she means, how do you study them? And why? They only turn everyone into raging monsters. Why study that?” 

“That’s three questions already,” Dwight had been keeping careful count. 

“You can’t leave us hanging on that,” Zarina protested. 

“Fair is fair,” Felix said. “Go on, Dwight. You have the floor.”

Dwight was excited to finally ask. “What are trials? And by that, I mean, what do they entail and what are the rules? There are rules, right?” 

“I don’t like how excited he is about this,” Zarina said. 

Felix seemed to agree, but Elodie rolled her eyes at them. “If he doesn’t know, it’s fine to be curious.” She looked at him. “Trials have four survivors and one killer. All random, on a map with seven generators. We fix five, and escape through two huge exit gates that we have to manually open, or we die. And the Entity resurrects us. That’s the basics of it.”

“Generators?” Dwight had heard Dr. Carter mumbled one or twice under his breath about how much he hated them. He’d been too afraid to ask what they were. “Hm. Interesting. And the killer has to stop you?” 

“They put us on hooks,” Zarina shivered at the word. “It sucks. But some killers are worse than others. We’ve gotten pretty good at keeping ourselves from hanging, though. It’s a wonder what you can do with flashlights.”

Flashlights. Lights. Blinded. 

Dr. Carter had muttered those things before too. The survivors kept talking about the trails, going beyond just three questions as they added things that came to mind. Dwight listened in wonder. These survivors talked about these life or death trials like they were games. They joked and laughed the more they recalled the close-calls and escapes they had. It sounded fun to them. 

Felix must have noticed the paleness to Dwight’s face and the disappearance of his smile. “Hey, uh, sorry. We’re just used to trials. I suppose we figured you’d be used to death by now. Are you?” 

Internally, he sighed. It was his turn to answer questions. “Sometimes, but I’m not used to it like you three. You sound as if you actually enjoy it…”

The survivors looked at one another and shrugged. “Somewhere along the way, I guess so. It’s just our life now. You learn to live the one you get,” Elodie said. “And how come you aren’t used to death living in this realm? What do you do that keeps the Entity appeased?” 

Dwight’s wounds throbbed. He looked away, suddenly feeling sick. These survivors were honest with him. He didn’t look them in the eye as he said, “Uh, I’m Dr. Carter’s assistant. I’m actually out here to collect flowers for his experiments.”

“Dr. Carter?” Zarina said, as if testing out the name. “I only know one doctor in this realm, and he’s a real son of a bitch. Maniacal laugh? Bald? Zappy powers?” she questioned. 

Dwight still couldn’t look at her. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Instead of anger though, he heard Elodie blow a sympathetic breath. “Damn, you work for him? You don’t seem so evil, though.”

“Dr. Carter’s not-” Dwight cut himself off, the outburst an instinct that he was suddenly embarrassed of. “I mean, well. He’s not so bad.”

“Um, he experiments on us during trials like rats,” Elodie said. “Blew my brains out my ears the last time I saw him. There’s very few killers that like to torture, and he’s one of them. How can you stand-”

“Elodie, come on,” Felix put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not like we pick our roles.”

Elodie bit her lip but nodded. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” She looked Dwight up and down, a different light in her eye. “You seem alright though. For a killer’s pet.”

Killer’s pet. For some reason, that set a chord off in Dwight, and his anxiety soured into bitterness. He didn’t outwardly show it. He’d gotten good at keeping a level facade. But he did cut off the conversation, stating that he had spent too much time talking and needed to get back to work. The survivors didn’t try to stop him, but Elodie did apologize, and ask that he look out for them in the future. 

“We hope to see you around, Dwight. Maybe one day you can see the campfire.”

Dwight nodded, but left with a tightness to his throat and a reeling mind of frantic thoughts. It felt like he messed up. He reluctantly went home to his Doctor.

Chapter 3

No, no, no, no, why is he here?! Get him out! Make him get the hell out!

Dwight’s loud, angry thoughts were kept to himself. He politely stood off to the side, trying to keep a calm face as Dr. Carter conversed good naturally with Kenneth Chase - the Clown. The beer-gutted killer was talking, but Dwight barely heard him. 

The Clown had been nothing but cruel to him, and the few times the Doctor needed the Clown’s help, Dwight had lost a finger or two. He was just grateful he only had to deal with this freak a handful of times. His hand twitched. He tried to stay small behind the Doctor while he rambled on. 

Dwight could barely follow along with the conversation. Ever since the Clown had arrived, all he’d heard was a buzzing in his head. Because Kenneth was saying that he found a bushel of red pustula flower. And Kenneth never offered anything for free. Not only that, but Dr. Carter hadn’t been very kind to him the last few days, upset that Dwight couldn’t seem to find any flowers himself. It wasn't his fault. Trails had officially dried up in the last few days, and killers were more likely to be in their realms. It was harder to collect things and remain unseen, but the Doctor didn't care. All paths pointed towards a painful afternoon. 

The Clown’s beady eyes kept glancing over to Dwight every now and then. His nasty grin would widen. Dwight kept his head down. He was terrified. 

“As interesting as the, er, sciency parts of it are, Doc, I’m afraid I’m just here to give you the flowers. And there’s more where that came from… for a price, of course,” Kenneth sneered. 

“For the red coloration, you can ask for whatever you’d like,” The Doctor said, ever so pleasantly. 

Kenneth pointed at Dwight. “Him. I want to torture him for an hour, and I get to kill him.”

Dwight went white, practically clinging to the Doctor’s labcoat as a faintness over came him. A hand fell on his head. “No, no. No death,” Dr. Carter said. “You can torture him for five minutes and you get to keep two fingers. But death takes too long to come back from. I need my assistant, Mr. Chase. You understand.”

“I’ll take five minutes,” Kenneth grinned. “I cut up the same faces everyday, and they’re all used to pain. Your little assistant ain’t.” He flipped his knife between his fingers. “You can watch if ya want, Doc. I don’t mind an audience.”

Dwight bit into his tongue, hard, trying to keep from begging. It would only make things worse. 

“No, I need to prepare the flowers for the experiment. I will, however, require you to use a specific room. There’s a drain there for blood. I don’t want my halls messy,” The Doctor said. 

“Of course,” The Clown replied cordially. 

Dwight tried not to be sick. He let Dr. Carter lead him down the hall as Kenneth left to collect the flowers, now that a deal had been struck to his liking. Dr. Carter only acknowledged Dwight when they reached the room. It was the theatre. Dwight expected the surgery room. It was much easier to clean up lood in there. He didn't say anything though. It wasn't his place. Dr. Carter patted his head and opened the door, gesturing for him to go inside. 

“In the future, I’m sure your foraging trips will wield more fruit,” he said. 

It was like a sweep of the executioner’s blade. Dwight gulped as he obediently nodded and walked inside. When the door shut, he tried to take deep breaths and calm himself. 

The survivors made torture and death look so care-free. Dwight felt sick with worry, and he only had to suffer five minutes and two missing fingers. Surely he was being a baby about it. Surely you had to be tougher than this in the Entity’s realm. He hugged himself, resisting the urge to cry. It made him feel even more pathetic. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and before he could get a good look, a bottle of foul smelling liquid hit him in the face. The glass bottle smashed into his nose, a hot pain flattening against his face and shards of glass leaving red trails across his cheeks. He screamed and threw off his glasses, scared that he’d gotten glass in his eyes. 

Oh god his eyes, they were burning. And as he rubbed furiously at them, bent over and coughing violently, he realized the nasty yellow liquid was burning everywhere it soaked. His skin turned red and he couldn’t see straight. Vertigo hit him like a truck. 

Kenneth’s white-painted face became a blurry stain on his sight. He saw double, and then screamed, as something jammed into his ribcage against one of the still healing wounds of his own self-mutilation. He gasped and hit the ground. Something heavy pressed into his gut. He saw a multitude of colors and clashing patterns. Something glittered dangerously before his face. It was thrust into his shoulder. 

More screaming. More pain. 

He kicked and thrashed, but his arms were pinned and he was too weak to push off the attacker. The sharp knife shoved up his shoulder and ripped through flesh. He felt his own blood soak his lab coat and it pooled under his back.  

Everything happened so fast. 

Through the pain, under his own breathless screaming and coughs, he felt his hand being pinned. He thrashed weakly, before the terribly searing agony of his bones being hacked through sent waves of fire up his arm. He shrieked louder.  Two of his fingers were gone. Kenneth laughed over his as he scooped them off the blood-soaked floor, quickly putting them safely away to continue his torment. Dwight had crawled away by only a few inches before he was dragged back by the ankle. 

It was another two minutes before the door opened and Dr. Carter called out for Kenneth to stop. Dwight gasped and sobbed on the ground, immediately curling into himself as the killer reluctantly let go of a bloody arm. Kenneth wiped his knife across his chest. 

“Ah, already?” He gruffed. “That’s a shame, but I had fun. Thanks again, Doc.” 

“Of course. I appreciate the ingredients. In fact, I have something else for you. It may help with those bottles you use. If you have the time, wait here while I grab it.”

Kenneth coughed wetly, though it was partially an interested laugh. “What’s that now? A gift from the Doctor? I’ll bite. What is it?” 

The Doctor cocked his head. “Patience, Kenneth.” And then those piercing eyes darted down to Dwight. The assistance felt them as vividly as he felt the knife, and shakily looked up to meet the gaze. Dwight was drenched in sweat, trembling and covered in wounds. Dr. Carter only nodded towards the open doorway. 

“Dwight. Go to the observatory and clean up the empty vials. Kenneth, give me a few moments. I’ll be quick.” 

Kenneth made a noise of curious affirmation and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, to wait. Dwight shoved himself to his legs. He fell over twice. He caught himself by accident on his mangled hand and cried out in agony before he could stand straight. Dr. Carter just watched, waiting impassively until Dwight stumbled passed him into the hallway. Dr. Carter followed. Behind them, through the open doorway, Kenneth waved. 

“I had fun, Dwight!” He called. 

Dwight shuddered, hunching his shoulders as Dr. Carter placed a heavy hand on one. Dwight wanted to throw that hand off. Before the red serum, he was sure that he would find comfort in the anchor. He would be telling himself that he suffered for the greater good.  But at that moment, all Dwight felt was pure disgust. He hated the Doctor for allowing that to happen. His hand throbbed angrily in agreement. His anger was thrown off in favor of confusion when Dr. Carter led him all the way up to the observation room. 

Dwight thought the Doctor was going to retrieve Kenneth’s gift. Instead, he eagerly made Dwight stand by the door as he went to the control panel and clicked a big red button. Below, the metal door automatically swung shut and bolted tight, locking in the Clown. Kenneth stood up straight, running to the door to try yanking it open, before looking up at the grinning Doctor. 

“Hey!” Kenneth shouted. “This ain’t funny, Doc. I helped you!” 

“And you’ll be helping me again,” Dr. Carter said through the speakers.He looked back at Dwight and snapped his fingers. “Come over here and watch. I’m sure you're equally as interested to see the effects on our resident clown as I am.” 

Dwight was still shaking, holding his hand to his chest. He timidly nodded and wordlessly walked over as Dr. Carter used the very last of the red serum. The vial was placed into the slot, twisted into place, and emptied into the vents.  Kenneth shouted as the red fog filled the room, coiling over him like rolling waves of bloody mist. Kenneth began coughing more viciously than usual, falling to his knees as he clutched at his thick throat. 

Dwight didn’t want to look. He could see his own blood under the Clown, reflecting his thrashing like a gruesome mirror. Dwight saw his own panic in the killer’s movements, the haze as the serum took effect and the sudden calmness that overtook his body. 

Dr. Carter leaned forward in anticipation, eyes laser focused on Kenneth as he brought his hand to his head and shook it.  He looked around in confusion and in fear - an emotion so bluntly foreign to Kenneth’s face that it looked like a plastic mask. 

Kenneth was trapped in there for a long while. Dr. Carter watched like a silent raptor, and Dwight was forced to do the same, uneased by the way the Clown had reverted to child-like crying and mumbling. He was seemingly begging his father of something, crying that he was good enough and that he could do better. Kenneth never got violent, though, not in the way Dwight did to himself. He just begged and sobbed and pleaded. 

After what felt like hours (Dwight’s deep pain stretching that time into infinitely longer) Kenneth slumped to his knees and went quiet. He held his head in his hands and didn’t move. Dr. Carter didn't move either, as if waiting for some abrupt outburst or other. Dwight held his breath. 

“Shit… Shit…” Kenneth’s voice was muffled behind his hands as he slowly came too. He looked up, blinking through the bright lights and up at the two members of his audience. He squinted and Dwight expected him to bellow in anger and demand his freedom. Instead, Kenneth merely stared at the Doctor, mouth agape, not moving. Dr. Carter titled his head.

“Interesting.” The Doctor shifted from the control panel, beckoning Dwight to follow as he exited to the hall. Dwight was scared to follow. But he did so, all the way down to the theatre door. When it opened, Dwight braced himself to be attacked. But Kenneth had only stood up, still in the same spot they saw him last, and staring at his captor. 

“Doc…” Kenneth mumbled. 

“How do you feel?” Dr. Carter walked forward at Kenneth’s single word, as if given permission to enter. Dwight sheepishly stumbled after, wishing to simply drop to the cold stone and fall asleep. 

“I… Doc…” Kenneth shook his head, then looked up almost pleadingly. “Doc, I wanna be better.” 

“Hm? Better how?” 

“I don’t know, just - just better!” Like striking a match, Kenneth suddenly popped back into his own boisterous voice, his eyes narrowing with a strangely fierce determination. “In trials! At killing survivors! At… at my bottles! That’s it! That’s what it is! You have to help me perfect my bottles! I know they can be better than they are.” 

“I see. Did whatever you experience bring upon this motivation to be better?” 

“Fucking-” Kenneth sucked in a breath, cutting himself off. “I won’t go into the shit I saw, Doc. You had your fun, locking me in and doing your experiment, but now you owe me.”

“By helping you better your…bottle’s ingredients,” Dr. Carter paused, a slight curl of his lip indicating his revulsion for the Clown’s methods. Dwight didn’t like the bottles much either. He was sure he didn’t want to know what liquids were sloshing around in there. 

“Yes! I need better ingredients, that’s it!” Kenneth snapped his finger like he was the one to think of the idea. 

“I suppose I can help you with that. After all, you are aiding me in my search for pustula.” 

Of course, Dr. Carter helped no one for free. If Kenneth was acting differently because of the serum, then he’d want to keep a close eye on such changes and their finer details. Dwight mentally prepared himself to see more of the Clown. 

“You got yourself a deal, Doc! Just no more locking me in rooms, alright? I won’t hold it against ya though, you crazy bastard.” 

Dr. Carter laughed rather than take offense, and clasped the offered arm. Kenneth shuddered as a light shock was sent though his body, the Doctor keeping his grip firm and unyielding. He leaned in, and even Dwight felt the air around him charge to life. 

“I look forward to working with you, Mr. Chase.”

 

---

 

The clown was true to his word. He came to Dr. Carter every few days with new questions, offering him rare ingredients and learning about methods that could make his bottles more potent. He was one hundred percent focused on his craft. It was like he was seeing his work with new eyes for the first time in a long time. 

Dr. Carter had many questions and theories.

The orange pustula made the host change in physical, easily observable ways. But this red one changed the host emotionally. From his perception, Dwight had merely become more distant, distracted and jumpy (if that was even possible). And Kenneth Chase had become studious in the pursuit of perfecting his craft, while before, he was focused on his own simple pleasures. It was no longer about hurting his victims, but about the effectiveness of that hurt. 

After using the rest of the serum on the Clown, he needed more red pustula. Dwight was told the same thing Dr. Carter told Kenneth.

“If Mr. Chase finds me ingredients before my clueless assistant, I’ll offer him another finger,” Dr. Carter said. Dwight only nodded, swallowing the sickening lump in his throat. His head was pat. 

“Good boy.”

And with that, Dwight was back in the woods. He could barely walk. He heavily favored his left side, and each pull of his muscles reminded him of the shallow wounds littering his sides and stomach. His face was in no better shape. Dwight had patched himself up, but his stitch work was messy and he could feel the bandages coming loose. 

The worst pain was in his hand though. The broken nose and black eye were mere paper-cuts to the constant, throbbing agony of his hand. His two missing fingers still felt like they were cramping in pain, and a strange sense of vertigo overcame him when he looked down, feeling the digits but finding them gone. 

Damn fucking clown, Dwight thought bitterly as he stumbled, a fresh wave of pain almost throwing him into the dirt. 

He just needed to find more red pustula. Dwight almost considered going back for that green flower. It’d be dry by now, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be used. He bit his lip. Dr. Carter would just test it on him as soon as he got home. Dwight’s poor body couldn’t handle another round of torture. 

He stumbled. He righted himself against a tree and a wash of nauseous had him gripping his head. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to lay down and rest so badly that tears of frustration beaded his eyes. 

But Dr. Carter would be mad. He had to keep pushing. Even if it hurt. Dwight shoved himself forward, but it was too hard, because he tripped over his own foot and fell face first into the tall, wet grass. He laid there, unmoving, his muscles aching and his eyes heavy. 

Dwight felt a flutter of panic at the thought of falling asleep. He needed to get the flowers and go home to his Doctor. 

He had to get up…He couldn’t. 

Exhaustion won out. He knew he had to at least go home, even if it was empty-handed. And yet, the ground felt more welcoming. Dwight fell asleep, looking more dead than alive. 

When he woke up, something was moving his arm. Dwight was too out f it to fully register that he wasn’t the one moving it, too focused on the pain that radiated up his limp arm. His hand fucking hurt. He made a soft noise and the movement stiffened, the grip of his wrist giving a gentle squeeze. 

Dwight blinked up to Caleb, dumbly staring at his worried, crooked face for a few uncomprehending seconds. Caleb was rewrapping the gash on his forearm, but he hadn’t moved since Dwight woke, as if scared of startling him. 

“Hey,” Dwight said. His voice cracked out and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. Caleb seemed as if he might let go of Dwight’s hand then quickly started to finish wrapping the cut. When he was done, he let go, sitting back from where he’d been kneeling to give the assistant some space. 

“Hey, Dwight. You feelin’ alright?” Caleb asked slowly. 

“Um,” he looked down. Right, he’d been out here looking for flowers. He was hurt, in terrible pain, and Dr. Carter was mad at him. Tears stung him eyes and he turned his head away, ashamed. Caleb stiffened. 

“Yeah, ain’t the brightest question,” Caleb sighed. “I re-wrapped what I could, but, uh, if there’s anything else I can do…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Dwight said hurriedly. “Um, thank you, though. I’m glad it was you who found me,” he wiped away the rest of his burning tears. “I really need to go, though. I have to find flowers.” 

He tried to stand, the mere thought of his task sending a bolt of panic through him. He wobbled, and Caleb helped steady him. Dwight didn’t let go of his arm and the killer made no move to take it back. 

“I…” Dwight stared at the hand gently holding his arm. More tears welled in his eyes. 

He angrily wiped at them, a little noise of shock escaping him as Caleb suddenly pulled him in for a hug. Dwight’s legs gave out from under him at the same time as Caleb let them both fall easily to their knees. Dwight’s hand came up to grab at his jacket. His mangled hand draped loosely against Caleb’s shoulder. 

“Sorry-” Dwight mumbled. He didn't want to move. His vision was blurry and wet. He felt so stupid, but Caleb shook his head. 

“It’s okay, Dwight.” 

Caleb’s arms were wiry and firm. They smelled like leather, and he almost laughed at himself, because his nose was buried in the folds of his leather coat, the old material reminding him faintly of school field trips to a local farm. His eyes beaded in tears. He hugged the cowboy back, his finger burying into his back, as if he might suddenly sink into the earth. 

“I’m sorry,” Dwight croaked. “I don’t… I don’t know why-”

“It ain’t a bother,” Caleb told him gently, rubbing circles into his back. “It ain’t a bother, not at all.”

Silence stretched between them. At least until Caleb asked in a quiet voice, “Did the Doctor do this to ya?” 

Dwight shook his head, but when he didn’t elaborate and Caleb seemed hesitant to push, the silence fell back into place. Dwight stop shaking after another several moments, sniffling occasionally as he got a hold of himself. 

“What if you stayed here?” Caleb asked, voice quiet like he was scared it was a silly idea. “The Doctor don’t think nothin’ a me. And I’d love the company.”

“The Entity wouldn’t let me. N-no, no, never,” Dwight choked. “I tried to… to leave… before. This is my role. We have to play our roles.”

Back when being Dr. Carter’s assistant had been forced on him, the Entity had made it clear that he was to be helpful. So that’s what Dwight tried to be. Helpful. 

Caleb’s arms stiffened, but then he relaxed, easing Dwight more comfortably against his chest. “I know,” his voice was sad. “I know that. That don’t mean you can’t come here when you’re able. You’re always welcome, no matter who the Entity has ya workin’ for.”

Dwight started crying again. Caleb let him, before gently easing back and taking his injured hand in a careful palm. Dwight hissed, but let him. Caleb tutted at the bloody mess of bandages. 

“At least come back to my place so I can re-do this. I don’t want you in more pain than you already are.”

Dwight nodded shakily. He really shouldn’t, but Caleb was so nice, and it physically pained him to think about being alone. Another voice argued against this. He had to find flowers. He had to find what Dr. Carter wanted or he’d pay the price. Dwight started to cry again, breathing hitching into a panic. 

Caleb’s voice was low and calm as he gathered Dwight back into a hug, rocking back and forth. Truthfully, the killer felt awkward as hell, and wasn’t sure if he was helping at all. But slowly, Dwight went limp in his grip, the shuddering of his limbs slowing to a mild shake. 

“S-sorry,” Dwight muttered into his shirt. “I- I need to- to need to go.” He peeled his face free of fabric, wiping messily at his nose and eyes. “I’ll be in trouble if I don’t. I’ll be-” he cut himself off. Caleb looked at his mangled hand then, ever so gently, dragged a thumb across the blood-stained palm. 

“The blight flowers, right?” Caleb suddenly asked. 

Dwight looked up, dim hope shining in his wet eyes. Caleb almost laughed at the puppy-dog look, before his face hardened at the pain scrawled across those features. 

“You have some?!” 

“If that’s what ya need, I do,” Caleb nodded. “Only a few of ‘em. They grow in my basement every season. You’re more than welcome to take ‘em all.”

Dwight was frozen for only a moment, before burying himself back into Caleb, thanking and hugging in a flurry of tears. “Please, please, thank you, thank you!”

Caleb petted his shoulder, letting him blubber through the outburst. “I only ask you of one thing.” The hope turned skeptical on Dwight’s face. Like he expected Caleb to pull the rug from under him. 

“Let me get ya cleaned first.” Caleb said quickly. “I don’t like lettin’ ya go off all bloody like this. Please?” 

Dwight nodded, a weird sense of relief and guilt filling him to the brim. “O-okay. I think that’d be okay.”

Caleb smiled and, as if he might scare off a frightened animal, moved Dwight to his feet. The shooter man leaned heavily into his side. No longer having to hide his injuries, he let Caleb slide an arm around his back and help him forward. 

This was wrong, right? This was breaking the rules. This was acting out. Dwight’s terrified mind tried to give him any reason to pull away. Yet he let Caleb lead him away from home. 

Dwight felt awkward as he let Caleb redo the bandages back at his saloon. It had taken a lot of reassurance to even take off his shirt, but when he did, he didn’t miss the glint of anger in Caleb's eyes.

“The Doctor didn’t do this, huh?” Caleb suddenly asked. He asked it in a tight voice as he worked, Dwight wincing against the pull of adhesive and the sting of healing gel. Caleb said he’d never had a reason to use his medical supplies, but he was an expert with his hands, commenting about re-doing the stitching if he wasn’t scared of making the cuts worse. 

“Um, no.” Dwight said quietly. Caleb hummed like he didn’t believe him and kept working. Another few minutes of silence passed. 

“You patch yourself up?” Caleb asked. 

Dwight gave a hesitant nod. “That bad?” He joked weakly. 

Caleb didn't smile. “It ain’t terrible… but I feel better after having a look myself.” 

He put away the gauze, sitting back in his chair and giving Dwight some much needed space. The poor assistant wasn’t used to so much attention, let alone from someone who made his heart do kick-flips. 

“Listen, Dwight. If ya ever get roughed up like this again, I’d like you to come to me. I don’t like that it happens, but I know I can make it a little less painful for ya.”

“No, no, that’s too much of a bother,” Dwight immediately began. Caleb held up a hand and he clicked his teeth together. 

“I mean it. I like ya, Dwight. It’ll put my own mind at ease if you’d agree. I’d hate to find ya passed out on the forest floor again. Anyone could'a found ya”

“Yeah… yeah, I guess you’re right,” Dwight admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I just don’t want to be in the way.”

Caleb snorted and shook his head. “I know you think that, but I ain’t found your company anything but charming.”

Dwight blushed and looked away. He fidgeted with his hands, studying the stark white of the new bandage over his missing fingers. Red was already dotting the pristine fabric. There was a lot less blood than before. 

“I think… I think you’re nice to be around,” Dwight said. It felt lame compared to Caleb’s words - words that made his gut feel mushy and warm. “I like you. I like being around you more than…” Dwight trailed off. His heart clenched in panic. He grabbed at it. Caleb’s voice floated over his head. 

“The flowers?” Dwight suddenly asked, hearing nothing the killer said. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course,” Caleb nodded and stood. “Um, yeah. Let me grab ‘em.”

Caleb left the building, but was gone only a few moments before he returned with a bushel of three blood-red pustula. Dwight stood up, staring wide-eyed at the dark petals. Caleb paused, looking from plant to guest with uncertain eyes. 

“I know they ain’t orange like they usually are, but I thought-”

“Thank you!” Dwight nearly yelled, rushing over to grab at the flowers. He didn’t care if he was being rude. He was beyond relieved. Red flowers meant no torture. Red flowers meant Dr. Carter would be happy. The Doctor wouldn’t punish him. Dwight, almost sobbing again, hugged Caleb around the middle. The cowboy petted his back. 

“Just promise you’ll come back here if you’re hurt,” Caleb urged, handing off the bouquet. 

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Dwight gushed, barely registering the words. So caught up in his excitement, he hardly registered himself standing up on his tippy-toes and giving Caleb’s cheek with a quick kiss. 

Caleb went stock still, staring at the wall in shock, while Dwight hurried to the door, the pain of his wounds a little less bitter. He didn’t even realize what he’d done, leaving Caleb to rub at his cheek, a hopeful smile tugging at his gray lips.

Dwight, hugging the life-saving flowers to his chest, ran home to his Doctor. 

Chapter 4

The theatre room had been scrubbed down and the flowers were pressed into a liquified serum. Dwight found it hard to clean and prepare for the experiment, especially with his bad hand. 

Dr. Carter had been overjoyed at the retrieval of the red pustula flowers. He didn’t seem angry anymore. That alone was like pulling a knife from his ribcage. The relief was immeasurable. Dwight found his mind wandering to Caleb. If it wasn’t for the cowboy, Dwight could be strapped to a table right now, getting vivisected. 

Instead, it was the Doctor’s turn on the table. Dr. Carter could perform surgery on his own stomach without an ounce of fear. He wasn’t scared of pain. He embraced it, especially if it meant progress in his work.

Dwight stared into the room. Dr. Carter was standing with his hands behind his back, staring up at the ceiling with that unnatural grin. When his bright eyes flashed up to the observing area, Dwight put the red serum into the port. It began to immediately drain. 

With the push of a button, the vents in the theatre room opened. Dwight bit his lip, nervously watching as a red mist filled the room. Dr. Carter closed his eyes, opened his arms to welcome the fog, and took a deep breath. His chest heaved. The red mist rushed up his nose and down his throat, like a liquid down a tube. Dwight felt his lip pull in a grimace. His throat itched. 

Dr. Carter began to heave violently, body jerking with each cough. Dwight stepped away from the glass, as if the Doctor would be able to see him. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like how out of control the Doctor looked. It wasn’t right.

Dr. Carter threw himself to the side suddenly. He crouched, hand to the wall as he seemed to be attempting to stand. He wobbled, before his head snapped violently, looking around in an uncharacteristically distraught look. Electricity surged under his feet and coated the room. Dwight jumped back from the panels, shouting as the electric shock sent it crackling in a plume of black smoke. Dwight scrambled to see if he could fix the panel. 

Another wave of electricity left Dr. Carter. Hand messing with the buttons, Dwight’s arm was seized in a poker-hot grip. He screamed and jerked violently away. The panel was destroyed, and through the glass, he saw the theatre door slide open. 

Dr. Carter, eyes wild in a deep illusion, looked at the exit and ran for it. He disappeared into the hall. Dwight backed up slowly, fear rising to leave a bitter taste on his tongue. 

Dr. Carter escaped. He’s not in his right mind. Oh God, what is he going to do to me? 

Dwight didn’t want to wait around. He ran from the control room, knowing Dr. Carter only had to turn the corner to find him. No way.  

Dwight breathed through the pain of his wounds as he dashed from hallway to hallway. The neon signs painted dark lines across his frantic features. He was looking for somewhere to hide and ride this out. But another burst of electricity ran along the ground. 

A noise like thunder followed behind, and Dwight screamed as the static grabbed his legs and shot through his body. He seized for only a second, before sagging to his knees, breath heavy. He heard maniacal laughter approaching. 

Shit. Dwight forced himself to run. Shit. Shit, I’m going to die again! I’m going to be tortured! 

It wasn’t fair. Dwight did everything right. He helped the Doctor. He got the flowers. This wasn’t fair! 

He rubbed furiously at the tears in his eyes. It made it hard to see where he was going, at least until he ran under the bright red neon sign that read: EXIT. 

Dwight paused, heart stuttering at the thought. He could leave. He could just leave the Institute until Dr. Carter came back to his right mind. But… would he get in trouble for leaving? What if Dr. Carter became lucid and got upset that his assistant left? Would Kenneth get another finger? Dwight shook on the thought. Behind, he heard the electric bursts of an approaching Doctor. 

Taking a courageous breath, Dwight ran under the sign, the red light painting his back as he made for the huge exit doors. Already open, eroded by plants and poor weather, the doors beckoned Dwight into the cold of the outside. He shivered, wishing he had more than his thin lab-coat, and made a mad dash for the tree line. 

He glanced over his shoulder just before he reached the woods. Dr. Carter hadn’t followed him, but the windows of the Institute lit up with blue static. Dwight kept moving.

---

He limped over lumpy, wet earth. He hugged himself, unsure if he was shaking from the cold or his own anxiety. The Doctor’s haunting laugh kept banging around the inside of his skull. The mild waves of electricity had only just left his muscles. The tips of his fingers still tingled, if only a little.

You have to go back, his mind rallied at him every few minutes. He’d think about Dr. Carter’s wild eyes, and it was easy to keep moving. 

You have to go back. 

He’ll snap out of it eventually. 

He’s going to be furious. 

It all became too much, all at once and too suddenly. Dwight grabbed his head. Everything hurt; his head, his thoughts, his stupid fucking hand! The pain was going to drive him wild. The fear and anxiety was doing a pretty good job of that already. 

And the worst part was, there was no ending in sight. This was life. 

Dwight closed his eyes. He was spiraling, he knew it, but there was nothing to grab onto. He didn’t even know where he was. If he’d been in the right mind, he’d have run towards Caleb’s territory. He would have asked for a hug and waited in his arms. He’d been too stupid, and now he was lost, drenched in the dew of the tall forest grass. 

He sat down right where he was, face in his knees, and refusing to move another muscle. 

….

He must have dozed off, but not for long, because Dwight woke up just as his body pitched to the side. He grunted, hitting wet dirt and scrambling to his aching knees. He took a moment to recall where he was and why. 

Dr. Carter… right… Dwight carefully stood. Anxiety danced under his skin. He needed to go back. But… he circled around the same spot, unsure of where to go. This forest was dark and thick. He could be in the Doctor’s territory, and several miles away. He chose the first direction his instincts trusted. 

Dwight wasn’t sure if he should be happy with his instincts or not. The forest bled away, slowly turning drier, until the dirt became hard-packed and the trees thinned out. Dwight felt a bit embarrassed that he unconsciously found his way to Caleb’s territory. But he was also happier to see the desert-like area than the rising walls of the Institute.

He bit his lip, hoping Caleb wouldn’t be annoyed that he was coming unannounced. Silly, since Caleb had already given him permission to do so. He still felt like a trespasser when he saw the wooden buildings.

The sky turned paler. The grass got taller, more yellow, and more brittle. The buildings came into view fully. He followed the shacks to the main building where Caleb had patched him up. 

A gun shot rang out, so sudden and loud, that Dwight dropped to his knees and shielding his head. He looked up, hearing another shot near the building. He almost left in fear until he saw a man on top of the building. He wore a scarf partially hiding his mouth and had unruly black hair. A large liquor bottle was awkwardly stuffed in his green jacket. 

Dwight stared until the man saw him. The man did a double-take, then put a finger to his lips, urging Dwight to be quiet. Another shot ricocheted through the area, much closer. 

The man disappeared, as Dwight was distracted by a familiar figure running from the building. It was Elodie. She too was holding a bottle. She stumbled, dropping the glass as fumbling to pick it up. Caleb appeared from the doorway, rifle up and cocked. Eldoie sat up, hands following her in surrender as the gun aimed right at her heart. Dwight’s own heart hammered in fear. 

“Caleb, stop!” Dwight found his voice before he found his feet. Caleb looked up in surprise, going rigid as Dwight stumbled over in a rush. Elodie stared in shock, blinking wordlessly as the assistant yelled over her head. 

“What are you doing?  I thought you only killed people in trials?!” 

“I didn’t - I mean-” Caleb’s tongue twisted, but he immediately pulled the mouth of the rifle from Elodie’s heart. “I was only scaring the rats away. They’re stealing my alcohol.”

“Just a bottle,” Elodie defended, clutching the whiskey like a teddy-bear. Dwight could tell Caleb was itching to train the gun back on her. But before he could gather the courage to step in between the two, Caleb sighed and fully lowered the gun. 

“You know what, it don’t matter,” Caleb walked by Elodie. She flinched, then creaked open an eye to watch him when he only walked passed. Caleb stopped in front of Dwight, eyes narrowing when he saw the faint lines of electrocution lining his hands. 

“You okay?” he asked softly. 

“I’m okay. Just don’t hurt anyone. I don’t want to see that,” Dwight grabbed his hand, scared he was asking for too much. But Caleb only sighed and nodded. 

“I won’t. Come on, let them raid my pantries.” Caleb said, casting one last look at Elodie. She had sat up and was watching them both, obviously confused. He led Dwight to one of the many buildings, one that was filled with equipment to manipulate leather, wood and metal. 

Half finished projects hung from the walls. Not weapons or tools of pain. But things like belt buckles, walking canes, a metal tobacco box, and a great number of ordinary objects. They weren’t made by someone with exceptional skill, but someone still learning. 

“You made all this?” Dwight asked, sliding over to a table. There was a pair of cufflinks. One was bigger than the other, and the metal was warped oddly on one side. But he could tell they were meant to look like crow heads. 

“Uh, yeah,” Caleb seemed embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck as he wandered over to look over Dwight’s shoulder. “I just tinker when I have time. I ain’t no expert craftsmen outside of engineering and the like, but… I got tired of weapon making. I’m a master at that,” Caleb chuckled, but it was dull. “Guess I felt sorry that I never made anything else back in the real world.”

Dwight looked briefly at the rifle Caleb had set on the table. It looked handmade, but with much more craft and experience than the cufflinks. Still, Dwight had never been good with his hands. To him, creating anything was a feat in itself. When he said so aloud, Caleb chuckled. 

“Pretty good at making me feel things,” Caleb said, then paused, as if he hadn’t meant to say it. “Er, I mean-”

“You make me feel things too,” Dwight found a brief moment of courage. Maybe it was because Caleb was the one to look flustered this time. Or maybe Dwight was just getting comfortable with this killer. Maybe too comfortable. “I really like you Caleb.”

“I really like you too, Dwight.” 

More silence. Awkward, but not suffocatingly so. Caleb shifted and Dwight bit his lip, looking up with wide eyes to meet the cowboy’s own dusty grays. He wasn’t sure who moved first. Either Caleb leaning down or Dwight reaching up on his toes.                                                                                        

Adrenaline ran through his body. A good kind of adrenaline, not like the one led by fear. Butterflies cluttered his stomach. He leaned in just as Caleb did- 

There was a knock at the door. 

Dwight and Caleb straightened up, Dwight coughing into his fist and Caleb looking angrily at the door. 

“Who’s there?” the killer asked. He was reaching for his rifle, but paused when a small voice, obviously confused, spoke from outside. 

“Um… Hey, it’s a survivor. I brought back your bottle.”

Caleb’s face tightened, even more skeptical than before. He shared the look with Dwight before turning the knob and opening the door, only a bit. Elodie was standing there, leaning to the side and trying to get a look around Caleb. He blocked her sight with his body, clearing his throat. 

“Didn’t I let you go? You ain’t got a death wish, do ya?” 

“No,” Elodie thrust the bottle at him. “I told you, I’m bringing back the bottle.” 

Caleb didn’t grab the stolen gift. “Why?” he asked instead. 

“Honestly? I want to know why you’re hanging out with Dwight.” she said, forcing a smile and shoving the bottle against Caleb’s unresponsive arm. When he didn’t take it, she hugged the bottle to her chest again. 

“You know Dwight?” Caleb asked. He jumped, moving aside at the sudden body that was wiggling between him and the doorway. Dwight peeked out at Elodie. 

“Hey, you can’t be taking his things,” Dwight told her. “Caleb’s not so mean, you know. You should just ask.”

Elodie grinned, eyes darting to Caleb with a mischievous glint. “Yeah, we could. But survivors like doing things the hard way, I guess. Um, sorry, though… Caleb,” she said, his name unfamiliar on her tongue. “I didn’t realize you were, uh, nice.”

“I’m nice ta’ people who like my company,” Caleb said. “And he doesn’t call me obscene names. That’s a nice bonus.”

“Heh, um, double sorry about that. But it’s hard not to get caught up in the moment. Especially a life or death one,” Elodie shrugged, then paused, as if realizing how ingenious that sounded. “Um, for real. I wasn’t sure I wouldn't be shot in the face if I knocked. So thanks for that too. Not shooting me, I mean.”

“That all?” Caleb seemed ready to shut the door. 

“Well, I wanted to see that Dwight was okay too,” She looked at the lab assistant. “You look a lot more rough than when we last met.”

Dwight noticed two slinking figures behind her. That man that had been on the saloon roof, and a young woman in a bright blue shirt. It was glaringly neon, and Dwight had to wonder why a survivor would wear something so bright. She and the man crept forward in obvious curiosity. 

“Are those your friends?” 

Elodie turned, and at their discovery, the other two jogged over. They stopped several feet away, untrusting of Caleb, but too curious to stay away. 

“I’m gonna get my gun,” Caleb growled. 

“They’re just curious,” Dwight said, but Caleb didn’t say it with enough anger to be serious. 

“They don’t leave me alone.” He just sounded tired. 

“Maybe… maybe we should play a card game?” 

Caleb looked at him, brow raised. “Hm?”

“Like how you showed me! And we can make a bet! They win, they get their bottle. They lose, they aren’t allowed to steal from you again.”

“And the rats will keep to their word, will they?” Caleb asked, looking right at Elodie.

She grinned and shrugged. “Sure, why not? That sounds actually fun. Right, Jake? Min?” 

“And he,” Dwight said, pointing to Jake, “Has to return that bottle he hid.”

Jake looked surprised that he was called out, but he grinned and nodded, only humming in affirmation. Min, on the other hand, was practically jumping up and down. “Seriously? He’s not going to kill us if we stay? I can’t wait to beat a killer at poker!” 

“Calm down,” Caleb told her. “You’re lookin’ at the poker champ of Dead Dawg.”

Min squealed excitedly. “Not until I take that title!” 

“She’s competitive,” Elodie told Dwight. “If there’s a title to be earned, she’s gonna try and go for it.”

“Try? You mean I do. ” Min scoffed, leaning up against Elodie to get a better look at Dwight. She paused, as if only realizing how badly he was beaten. A moment later, she was grinning again. “Nice to meet ya, Dwight. The whole camp’s been talking about you.”

He flushed, suddenly nervous again. “O-oh. Um, really?” 

“Careful of this one,” Caleb said, glaring at Min. “She’s a troublemaker.”

Min seemed to take that as a compliment. She winked at Dwight. “I’m not easy to kill in trials. Can’t help it if I get a little cocky.”

“A little,” Caleb scoffed, but turned from the door. Dwight panicked at being left alone with three strangers, but the killer only grabbed a pack of cards from a drawer, returning to toss the deck in Min’s hand. 

“Go shuffle and set up in the saloon.”

Min grinned and ran off, grabbing Jake by the arm and practically dragging him behind. Elodie watched them go, arms crossed. 

“I haven’t seen Min this excited in years,” she paused, looking up at Caleb. “You ready to lose, old man?” 

Caleb just sighed, ignoring her as he made his way to the saloon. Dwight followed right alongside him. He gave his hand a squeeze, happy that Caleb let him de-escalate the situation. Caleb squeezed his hand back. 

But among all this excitement, his heart skipped a beat at the thought of Dr. Carter. He really needed to go back, but it hadn’t been that long. And Dr. Carter could still be in a bad state. He’d stay for one poker game - just one - then head home. 

---

Dwight didn't want to leave the saloon. He’d wasted too much time. But he was having fun. Real actual fun. Caleb was beginning to loosen up, having been guarded and on edge the whole time he held his set of cards in front of his face. 

He kept glancing at Min and Jake like they would jump the bar for more bottles, but Jake had brought the gin he’d stolen and set it on the table as a peace offering. And Min kept trying to sneak glances at his cards, pissing him off so much that Caleb took the game more seriously. When he won the first lot, he grinned smugly at Min. But he didn’t kick them out. 

He gave Dwight a thoughtful look and said, addressing the room, “Alright, ya rats. Go ahead and reshuffle.” 

Caleb also stood, grabbing a bottle from the bar and adding it beside the gin. “What’s say we play fer two bottles? So long as next time, you bring somethin’ of value.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna let us come back? Without killing us?” Elodie clarified. She’d been skeptical most of the game, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She seemed a lot more relaxed now that an entire game had gone by without anyone getting shot. 

“If yer willin’ to stop stealin’,” Caleb said, leaning forward on his elbow. “I won’t shoot.”

“As long as we can keep winning alcohol,” Min said, standing up and slamming her hands on the table to emphasize her point. She was fearless. Dwight was jealous. “I know you hate us stealing, but I’m telling you, your realm is the only one with booze!”

“There’s a few others,” Jake said. He had been pretty silent most of the game, preferring two or three words to get his point across. “But you know…”

“Yeah, no.” Elodie shook her head. “Caleb, I’m sorry we annoy you, but you only shoot us. Which, compared to the things some killers would do if they got their hands on us? You’re pretty cool. For a killer.”

“You’re alright. For a survivor,” Caleb said. 

“No really. We get assholes who torture us during trials,” Min interjected, leaning forward so far, she was practically on the table. Jake, reshuffling the deck, reached out and pulled her back into her seat. She continued on, unbothered. “You just play the game and hook us. A lot of survivors would put you near the top of their favorite killer list.”

Caleb paused when he opened his mouth. “You have a list?” He asked, instead of whatever he’d been thinking. “Who are the top three killers?” 

Jake, Min and Elodie all looked between each other, a silent conversation exchanged between looks and smiles and scowls alone. They looked back at Dwight and Caleb, like lawyers presenting their closing arguments. 

“A lot of people would put you on top,” Min said. 

“But,” Elodie lifted a finger. “Wraith is a close second.”

“Wraith?” Dwight asked. “Who’s that?” 

“Guy with a bell. Disappears,” Jake listed. 

“Ah, that’s Philip. He’s harmless,” Caleb said. “I can see why he's up on the list. He likes to do his work and get back to bein’ alone.”

“We pass through his realm to get here,” Elodie said. “He’s never attacked us, but he’s never shown himself either. I think you’re the first killer to talk to us outside trials. It’s pretty cool.”

“He’s quiet around me too,” Caleb said. “No killer is all that friendly, actually.” He paused, as if regretting the direction of the conversation. 

Jake took the lull in conversation to start pooling out the cards. Dwight gingerly took his stack, still unsure of the rules. Caleb leaned over to look, helping him along through the game. The other three survivors shared obvious looks, but no one said anything. Dwight was happy they didn’t. 

Watching Caleb loosen up, and seeing the survivors laugh and talk like normal people - Dwight wished he could stay. He knew he was on a ticking clock, and he was pushing his luck by even playing a second game. When Caleb won again, Dwight cleared his throat. 

“Um, I need to go,” he said quietly, like a kid asking their parents for permission. 

“I can walk ya back,” Caleb said. Dwight blinked. He had an excuse already on the tip of his tongue to explain why he was ruining the fun. But the cowboy didn’t seem to care. He slid the gin over to Elodie. 

“Keep it. Just promise to bring somethin’ worth my time the next game we play.”

Elodie beamed and took the prize, while Min leaned over the table. “Can we have some cards? I need to practice so I can beat you!” 

Caleb chuckled and tossed her his half-put together cards. “Clean up before ya leave,” he stood and gently helped Dwight up. 

“Thanks for playing, Dwight! We’ll see you around, right?” Min asked. 

“Um, yeah,” Dwight wasn’t sure if it was the truth, but he did have fun. Even if he didn’t play much or talk to anyone. Just watching people laugh and goof off had been socially exhausting enough. He happily leaned into Caleb as they left Dead Dawg. Dwight stopped at the edge of the border.   

“Thanks. I had fun,” he said shyly. 

“I did too. Would’a been better without the rats, but… you were right. A card game was a great idea.”

Dwight looked away, then with a stroke of bravery, reached up and kissed Caleb on the lips. Quick and brief, but bursting with nerves. 

“Thanks!” Dwight said again, and took off. 

Caleb was left on the border, fingers to his lips as, caught off guard for a second time. He smiled, one that would last all afternoon, as he watched the assistant run home to his Doctor.

Chapter 5

The Institute was quiet. No laughter or electricity ran through the halls. Dwight carefully snuck from room to room. With everyone that he found empty, his heart beat faster. 

Where the hell was the Doctor? 

He closed his eyes, regretting opening his mouth already, and then called into the dark. “H-hello? Doctor?” Dwight’s voice trembled down the corridor. He waited. “Doc-”

That maniacal laughter echoed behind him. Dwight spun around, terrified, clutching his chest. He still sounded deranged. The Doctor turned the corner and came so quickly that Dwight fell on his ass and tried to kick himself away. He threw up an arm to protect himself. 

A hand clasped around his arm. He gasped in pain, but was only hefted up to his feet. He stared frightfully at Dr. Carter. 

“I’m sorry I left,” he started to babble. “I-you-and the door opened- and you were acting weird-”

A hand clamped over his mouth, mild tingles running through the muscles there. Dr. Carter didn’t look angry at all. In fact, he looked quite the opposite. Dwight stayed incredibly apprehensive. The Doctor dropped his hand from his mouth and grabbed both his shoulders. 

“Ah no, no, no, it’s alright,” the Doctor said, words tumbling too fast between grinning teeth. “I should have known how easily I could escape.”

Was that… an apology? Not a straight one, no, but the Doctor was still admitting fault. Dwight wondered if he really did die. He didn’t know what to say. More excuses tried to fumble their way from his lips. 

“Doctor, really, I should have-” The hand slapped back over his mouth. 

“I’m only going to do this next part because I don’t want to see you hurt anymore, okay Dwight?” Dr. Carter said it so gently, like he was talking to a child. Dwight’s heart stammered in fear. The grip on his wrists grew tighter. 

“I… okay,” he agreed, because it felt like the safe thing to do. But then Dr. Carter’s hands clamped on either side of his head and, without warning, gave a terrible, violent jerk. Dwight’s neck snapped and he dropped dead. 

It took days for Dwight to come back. He wasn’t used to death. It was a painful, slow process that required only partial consciousness. He faded in and out. When he was able to open his physical eyes, he was laying on the cold ground, staring at a familiar, high-rise ceiling and tall windows lining the corridor walls. 

A wave of nausea had him sitting up with a nasty sounding cough. He heaved, nothing coming up, but his muscles clenching desperately all the same. Above his hacking, he saw boots walk into the peripheral of his vision. A hand wrapped around his bicep and hoisted him up. Dr. Carter patted him down while Dwight wobbled, his head spinning in circles. 

But he was lucid enough to notice the lack of pain. No more stab wounds or missing fingers. His face felt normal too. 

“There,” The Doctor hummed and electricity lit up the hall. “Now you can focus fully on your duties.”

Dwight’s jaw clenched for a moment as the wave of electricity passed. Dr. Carter never had let his powers act so freely before. Flashes of blue jumped along The Doctor’s shoulders and across his fingers. Dwight’s muscles gave a mild shudder wherever those static-charged hands touched. It felt awful. 

“I shouldn’t have neglected my assistant,” Dr. Carter continued to surprise. Dwight felt weirdly embarrassed. It was hard to keep eye contact, but it was the respectful thing to do. And right now, Dwight was scared shitless to break this odd mood. 

“It’s okay…” Dwight mumbled. 

“But it affects my work!” The Doctor suddenly wheeled around. Dwight panicked and stumbled backwards, almost falling onto his ass. Dr. Carter snatched him by the wrist, his arm seizing up, and started to hurriedly drag him down the hall. 

“Now hurry, Dwight. There’s work to be done. The blight season is here and we’ve been dragging our feet! It’s time to unlock the secrets of the pustula!” 

Dwight barely regained his footing before he was let go. He fell face first in the lab, but scrambled dutifully to his feet. Dr. Carter was humming a tune as he set up the supplies, as well as the last bit of the red pustula petals. 

Dwight was growing increasingly scared, but the Doctor didn’t do any tests on him. Instead, he wanted to turn them into tablets and keep them for himself. To “reinvigorate his motivation” if the effects faded. Dwight warily helped him break down the components. He should have been grateful that an experiment wasn’t going to lead to pain. 

But The Doctor was explaining things to him in careful detail, talking directly to his assistant over his usual mumbling rants. Dr. Carter constantly in his personal space, fixing any tiny mistake he made. He didn’t punish Dwight though. Odd. But not entirely unwelcome, even if the invasion of personal space definitely was. 

When the tablets were done, packaged and stored away, and Dwight was asked to start putting supplies away, he scurried off with a breath of relief. But only halfway through putting things back in their place, Dr. Carter’s head jerked up. A moment later, a low alarm sounded somewhere in the front of the building. A sensor that meant someone was near the entrance doors. 

Dr. Carter immediately took off at a brisk pace, asking Dwight to grab a container on the way. No one visited the Institute unless it was blight season and they had a pustula plant to bargain with. 

Dwight shakily took a glass jar. Keeping to the Doctor like a shadow, Dwight almost fell over when he saw who was waiting in the entrance hall. Of course, it was Kenneth Chase. He was leaning against the wall, dragging the tip of his wide knife under a dirty nail. A bundle of paper was wrapped under his arm. When he saw the two, he gave a hearty, wet laugh and pushed himself up. 

“Doc! I found more of those red plants for ya,” the Clown grinned. After being locked up and tricked into an experiment, Dwight thought Kenneth would want the Doctor dead. But the Clown talked and treated Dr. Carter like he was his best buddy - a real good pal he could depend on. 

“Kenneth,” Dr. Carter welcomed. “What a pleasant surprise. I’ve heard you’ve been doing exceedingly well in discovering new effects for your bottles.”

“I gotta tell ya, Doc, your crazy ass experiments worked in my favour for once. I don’t know what you do to these plants,” he said, holding up the paper bundle, roots leaking out from the seams. “But I’ve never felt more motivated. In fact, I’ve been working on a new serum, makes the survivors deaf and blind. But it’s not workin’ exactly as I want. I’ve been practicing on myself since the survivors are being extra sneaky this season. Thought I’d trade some plants for some help?” 

“I have some ingredients that’ll interest you,” Dr. Carter nearly purred as he took the plants, peeling back the paper and giggling at the sight of red petals. “Perfect. Follow me. Dwight, take the plants into my lab and come find us in the prep room.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Dwight slid the plants into the jar and took no hesitation in scurrying off. He heard the Clown laugh behind him. 

“He really listens to anything you say, huh, Doc?” 

Dwight didn’t hear the response. He rounded the corner and hurried off to the lab. He set the red pustula carefully on his work table, before pausing to take a few calming breaths. Kenneth asked for help on his nasty bottles. Dwight had expected Dr. Carter to say that he could be used for target practice.

It’s fine. You’re fine, What’s another torture session? He thought almost manically.  

He repeated that a few more times under his breath before wandering to the prep-room. He spent a lot of time here, preparing to be experimented on, getting poked with needles and drinking questionable substances. Dr. Carter was in the middle of explaining how Kenneth might try using gas instead of his usual liquid bottles that only emitted a light fog. Kenneth asked a question about the application before noticing Dwight.

“Maybe we can test it out,” Kenneth said. 

“We can only progress forward if we test,” Dr. Carter agreed. 

Dwight’s heart sank, but then the Doctor continued, almost like he didn’t understand Kenneth’s implication. “There’s been lots of survivors exploring farther and farther from the safety of their camp. I’m sure they’d make excellent subjects, if we’re able to catch one.”

“We got a perfectly healthy subject right here,” Kenneth scoffed, jamming a thumb at Dwight. 

“Oh no, he’s off the table,” Dr. Carter said. Dwight blinked, probably looking as dumb as Kenneth, who looked at Dr. Carter like he was making a bad joke. 

“Ain’t he your lab rat?” Kenneth pushed. “You let me carve him up not long ago.”

“Things have changed,” Dr. Carter said curtly.

Kenneth chuckled, but it sounded more like a scoff. “Come on, what else are you getting from him? Survivors are meant to be under our knives, right?” 

“He’s not a survivor. He’s my assistant,” Dr. Carter said. “His health needs to be optimal in order to assist me.”

“Ha! Just the other day, he was barely able to stand up, he had so many injuries,” Kenneth reasoned. 

“A lapse in my judgment,” was the reply.

Dwight stared up at him, shocked and confused. He jumped when a hand fell on the top of his head. “Dwight here doesn’t need to be burdened with needless injuries. I’m trying to be more… precise in where I put his uses. Mutilation is unbeneficial to both of us.”

“That’s stupid,” the Clown scoffed. 

“To you, it may appear so,” Carter said with such ease, that if Dwight wasn’t familiar with the killer, he’d miss the slight tension in his jawline that spoke of annoyance. “I can offer you anything else, Kenneth. I’ll even assist you in capturing your very own survivor. The Entity wouldn’t take them back until the Blight season ended, so you’d have plenty of time to improve.”

“I want him,” Kenneth jabbed a finger at Dwight again, like a petulant child being told no. “He’s already here. There’s no need to make things more difficult-”

“If you won’t drop the subject, then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave,” Dr. Carter ordered. Dwight was shocked. He looked between the killers, mouth hanging open. Was… was the Doctor really saying these things? Was he really protecting Dwight, even if it meant giving up his precious pustula? 

Kenneth snorted in disgust, holding up said plants. “So you don’t want your fuckin’ flowers? ‘Cause I’ll walk away with ‘em, and you can find another fuck to do your foraging.”

“Very well,” Dr. Carter waved him off, turning with a small hum of electricity. “We have nothing more to discuss here. Dwight, come along. We have work to do.”

Dwight jumped at the sensation filtering through the air, taking several steps back to stay behind Dr. Carter and as far from the Clown as possible. Kenneth had a nasty expression on his face, a twisting of anger and offense. He held his knife in a tight grip.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me, Carter,“ Kenneth snarled, his voice thick and ugly. 

Dwight looked over his shoulder, but the Doctor just kept walking, completely unbothered by the man shouting threats behind his back. Dwight nearly jumped out of his skin when Kenneth made a guttural noise and lunged at them. Dr. Carter turned, his spiked metal bat unclipping from his belt and striking Kenneth in the temple with one solid motion. 

Dwight scrambled backwards when Kenneth reared back and, face bleeding, smashed a small vial of his potion into the ground. The area was immediately thick with yellow fog. Dwight tried to hold his breath. Dr. Carter had helped Kenneth with this very concoction, rendering it so only the Clown got positive effects, while survivors would suffer.

Dr. Carter was laughing, unaffected like Dwight. Electricity struck through the cloud and made Dwight drop to his knees before he could escape the fog. Tears burned in his eyes and nausea took hold. He couldn’t tell up from down. 

Another bottle must have been smashed, because pink fog rolled in with the yellow. Dwight nearly threw up as he tried to crawl away. When he reached the edge of the nasty fog, he coughed and breathed in the semi-clean hallway air, kicking himself further down the corridor. 

He could see movement in the cloud with every pulse of electricity. Dr. Carter was laughing maniacally, stick raised in his silhouette over Kenneth, who Dwight could see trying and failing to defend himself from the beating. 

Dwight scrambled further away until he was at the corner of the hall. He turned his head away. The striking of metal to flesh became more consistent and more brutal. Dr. Carter wouldn’t stop laughing . Dwight found himself covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. 

It was several long minutes before the fog dissipated. Dwight heard Dr. Carter’s clinical footsteps approaching, and Dwight looked up, refusing to look at the bloody mess behind him. He stood straight. 

“Dr…” Dwight fumbled for the right wording. 

Dr. Carter was just staring at him, his pupils dilated and his breathing heavy. Blood coated his front. It felt like being before a savagely wild animal that could pounce at any moment. Dwight tried to find his next words very carefully, trying desperately to pull Dr. Carter out of whatever the fuck this was. 

“We have more red pustula now, Doctor,” Dwight said slowly. “Would you like me to take it up to the observatory?”

A bit of clarity passed over Carter’s eyes. He looked Dwight up and down, and Dwight tried to keep the swimming nausea off his face. Those vials had really done a number on his senses. He leaned against the corner of the wall for support. Dr. Carter lifted a hand, and Dwight flinched when it landed heavily on his shoulder. 

“No. I will do that.” His voice sounded weird. Hollow - empty of the blood-soaked joy that had enveloped this corridor just moments ago. “Go lay down until the effects of the vial wears off and you feel well enough to continue our work. Then join me up there.” 

Dwight almost let his jaw drop. Dr. Carter turned him around and nudged him away, turning back to the corpse to retrieve the fallen pustula now scattered among the gore. Dwight hesitated for a moment. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, simply because he thought he must have heard wrong. 

Dr. Carter looked at him. “Yes. I too need a moment alone.” 

Then he turned back, stepping in the puddle of blood still steadily growing. Dwight went to his little room with nothing but a cot and drawer, laying down as if in a trance. He still felt sick, but he had never gotten a rest break before. It was surreal. 

He closed his eyes, and though sleep didn’t come, it was nice to be tucked away in his own space and away from the horrors of this world. If just for a little bit. 

---

Dwight was alone. The door had been left shut while Dr. Carter left to speak with Evan, another killer that apparently found more oddly coloured pustula plants. 

Dwight was grateful he didn’t have to go. But being alone could be boring, and there was little use in cleaning to pass the time. The Entity’s realm was permanently in a state of disarray, cobwebs and dust. 

He found himself staring out a window. The glass was barred with iron, but impossible to close, so a constant cold draft was blowing in. Dwight, used to the cold, even preferring it compared to the stuffiness of inside, stood with his arms hanging out one of the windows. He could partially see the entrance from here. The walkway leading up to it quickly turned to forest. There was little else to entertain himself with but tree watching. 

I could leave. He perked up, blinking in surprise at his own idea. I could leave. The door isn’t locked. 

But as soon as the thought came, it was crippled by guilt. He shied away from the window, looking from trees to the cracked linoleum of the dirty floor. Why would he think such a thing? Dwight grabbed at his head. 

Where would I even go?

He lingered on that question, walking in endless circles around the halls in boredom. He’d already organized and cleaned what he could. Without Carter, there was little else to do. He sighed, thinking about Jake and Elodie. And especially Caleb. Caleb would help. And the survivors would too.

No. No. These were dangerous thoughts. Luckily, Dwight didn’t have to simmer for too long in such heretical ideas, because there was someone moving through the forest towards the building. 

Dwight jumped, peering through the hallway window. He saw Dr. Carter just as he rounded the edge of the window’s pane, where the entrance was hidden. He heard the shudder of metal and the creak as doors scraped the floor. Dwight quickly jogged towards the noise. 

“Doctor!” Dwight felt his own voice was too high, that he was trying too hard to act normal. It felt like his traitorous thoughts were painted all over his face. “Welcome back.”

“Dwight!” Dr. Carter spun, the doors shutting behind his back. “Look at this! A new variation of colouring!” 

In his hands, was a glass container of pustula plants. They had bright blue petals, so bright, they looked like they were glowing. The Doctor walked hurriedly past, catching Dwight by the shoulder to drag him along. Dwight stumbled a few steps, then scrambled to keep up. Every one of Dr. Carter’s steps were twice as far as Dwight’s. 

“This is so exciting! To think, first the red variations and now blue! Who knows what effects we’ll discover. I can’t even imagine why these variations are sprouting or what conditions we’d need to grow our own-”

He kept rambling, and Dwight scampered beside him, a little nervous but hopeful that he wouldn’t be the lab rat in this scenario. 

“This is incredibly exciting! We don’t have any subjects on hand, so you understand. I need you to go prep in the theatre,” Dr. Carter kept talking, but Dwight’s mouth went dry and he struggled to breathe. Outwardly, he kept it together. He was lucky enough to avoid a second mutilation by Kenneth. He should be grateful he got that much leeway. 

“Yes, Doctor,” Dwight forced out. 

But Dr. Carter barely heard him, already at his work table, unscrewing the lid and preparing the petals. Dwight stood there a few more seconds. He had a terrible urge to cry. 

I should have left. He thought, turning around to hide his wet eyes. 

Dwight went through the process of removing his tie and shoes, and sealing himself inside the chamber. Bad feelings overcame him as he stepped over the cold floor. His blood stained the area where he’d been attacked. He shivered and looked away. 

Dr. Carter didn’t take long to inject the serum. The vents opened and a bright cloud of blue filtered into the room. It was much thicker than any previous serum’s gaseous form, and it stuck to Dwight’s skin like wet mist. He coughed, the stickiness crawling down his throat and making it hard to breathe.

He collapsed to his knees, holding his throat and gasping. His vision was blurry. His tongue tasted sickly sweet. Suddenly, it felt like something was pressing against the walls of his throat. He let go and, gagging violently, began to vomit. Rather than stomach bile, he threw up several hard spheres. They were blue and clinked together like glass ornaments, despite bouncing off the ground without so much as a scratch.  

Dwight didn’t even notice then. He collapsed onto his face, arms around his head as the coughing fit ended and he could breathe again. The fog of blue slowly dissolved, and when it was safe, the door slid open and Dr. Carter strolled in. He had a jar, and quickly collected the blue crystals, before he knelt down by a groaning Dwight. He lifted up his face and noted the lack of physical changes. 

“How do you feel?” The Doctor prodded in clinical excitement. 

“Huh?” Dwight blinked. His vision was blurry and the voice that spoke sounded as if it were filtered through static. He was cold, and his throat hurt like hell. When his vision cleared and he got a good look at the man in front of him, 

Dwight’s entire being went ice cold. The man holding his chin had graying skin, with medical equipment peeling back his mouth and eyes like some torture victim. But those eyes were wide and excited, his smile buzzing with some kind of electrical shocks that Dwight could feel buzzing against his chin. 

He didn’t know who this man was. 

He screamed and jerked backwards, eyes wide and heart pounding as he looked around in frantic terror. He was in some concrete room, with stone flooring and… and blood. So much blood. It was dried all over the ground and coated the walls in splashes of dark violence. 

“Where am I?!” Dwight shouted. He tried to think back to how he got here, but everything was blank. He couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone the last few hours. “Who are you?!” 

The Doctor paused. He set the jar aside and took out his notes. Temporary Memory Loss, he scribbled. For how long, he’d set the old stopwatch on his belt. Every little note helps. 

Dwight was still cowering away, staring at him wide eyed and trembling. But, as the Doctor leaned in, there seemed to be nothing else wrong with him. Dr. Carter snapped his fingers, forcing Dwight’s eyes up and away from the instrument peeling back his lips. 

“How do you feel? Any pain?” 

Dwight wordlessly shook his head. The movement was tiny, as if afraid he’d be lunged at. Dr. Carter asked him a few more questions, eliciting the same terrified head shakes in response. So it seemed the blue pustula was merely memory loss. Interesting, if underwhelming compared to the other flowers.

He looked down at the jar, convinced he’d locked Dwight in here until he regained his memories while studying what these spheres may be. But as Dr. Carter got a closer look, he realized there were very faint images moving in the balls. Dwight was looking too and pointed a shaky finger at the jar, his voice tiny under the occasional buzz of Carter’s electricity. 

“Is t-that me?” 

Dwight hadn’t meant to turn his gaze from the monster before him. Yet, in those bright blue balls, he saw himself. He stood by this scary man, helping him in some lab, making chemicals, listening to his ramblings - and - and - Dwight screamed again, backing himself into the wall as he witnessed death after death. His own death. 

“Please, don’t hurt me!” Dwight begged.

The Doctor didn’t hear him. Wide manic eyes darted from jar to lab assistant. In his whirling brain, the Doctor realized what these were. The memory loss wasn’t temporary. The memories were right here in his hands. For some reason, Dr. Carter’s blood went cold at the thought of Dwight not remembering him. He did not rationalize these feelings. He did not think beyond their influence over his most basic emotions - pesky things that he had long since abandoned. He simply acted. 

Dwight screamed again as the Doctor suddenly descended upon him, a large hand clasping around his face to grip his jaw, so tight that Dwight had no option but to open his mouth of risk breaking a bone. The jar fell over, blue spheres tumbling free around the Doctor's knees as he grabbed a random one in slightly shaky fingers. 

Dwight’s terrified eyes went even wider just before the sphere was shoved into his mouth. He choked, gagging as the Doctor practically slammed it to the back of his throat. It was small enough to swallow without choking, but it fucking hurt. Dwight’s face was wet with tears as the memories were frantically shoved, one after the other, back into their rightful body. 

Dwight felt like he was suffocating. He couldn’t breath, could barely think, as his teeth clinked painfully against the glass-like spheres. Faintly, halfway through this torture, he remembered. 

Dr. Carter introduced him to his new role - his new life. 

Painful experiments in the name of progress. 

Pain, pain, pain. 

A rifle in his face, an apology, a card game - 

Dwight breathed in, body tensing as he came to in a fit of panic. Dr. Carter - he remembered, he remembered his doctor - was holding him. The killer was trembling slightly, casting waves of involuntary electricity that made Dwight’s muscles lock up. Dr. Carter’s breath was ragged, almost scared. He held onto Dwight, who slowly came back to himself, until fingers gripped hard into his assistant’s shoulders and drew back. 

“You forgot me.” Dr. Carter’s voice was low. 

“I… I’m sorry-” Dwight squeaked. 

“It’s my fault,” Dr. Carter interrupted. Dwight went still, scared to speak as if it might break whatever spell the Doctor was under. “I was impatient.”

There’s a stillness in the air that settled like lead weights on Dwight’s head. Dr. Carter was staring at him, saying nothing and not getting up from their cramped spot on the floor. 

“It’s okay,” Dwight didn’t know what else to say. His voice broke through the silence like cracking glass, and he flinched when it jolted the Doctor back into animation, his rough hands clamping back to his assistant’s shoulders. 

“No, no, no,” Dr. Carter said, each word getting more aggressive. “I didn’t like that. I’m going to have to go back to my old habits. Hunt down my subjects.” 

He paused, and a hesitant look of excitement crossed his features. Dwight remained absolutely silent as the Doctor began to pace, the words a flow of his consciousness. 

“Yes. That could be rather fun. And I need more variety in bodies. I suppose I can attempt to trap survivors. They’ve been getting more bold… traveling farther…” 

Dwight gulped. He didn’t want Dr. Carter to capture a survivor. What if it was one of the ones he played poker with? He didn’t want his potential friends to think he was a sick monster. But he couldn’t object, otherwise Dr. Carter would find out about his little explorations. He felt sick to his stomach.

The Doctor knelt down beside him and hugged him again. The electricity along his flesh hurt and so did the too possessive grip around his shoulders. He was making promises, continuing his ramblings about how he would never risk Dwight’s life again. That Dwight would never leave the Institute, that he would be safe locked in the halls. 

Dwight knew right then that he needed to leave. He needed to run away from home - away from this Doctor. 

Chapter 6

Dwight wasn’t allowed to leave. The door was to be locked with a bar through the handles while Dr. Carter was gone. Apparently, Kenneth had been sneaking around, and the Doctor saw no reason for his assistant to be outdoors anymore. 

He didn’t realize how much he missed wandering the forests and scavenging for supplies, until he was barred from stepping foot outside the Institute. Dr. Carter was gone more often than not now, and his assistant was expected to prepare experiments.

Dr. Carter didn’t use him for any experiments. He didn’t even want him around any more pustula plants unless he was there to supervise. Dwight was left working on mechanical projects, like weapons. 

He hated handling any of the Doctor’s bludgeoning sticks. He would clean blood, flesh and hair from them. He was sure he recognized some of Elodie’s long, thick curls, and he quickly tossed it into the disposal with a loud gag, all manner of nightmares conjured to life. His stomach churned and he wished so badly to see her again. 

He wondered if Caleb missed him. He wondered if anyone missed him, in this world or the old one. He sniffed, wiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. He wanted to leave, but every time he went to the door, he’d panic and run back to the bowels of the Institute. Even now, having finished cleaning weapons and locking up the cabinets, Dwight was trembling with the fear of even attempting to leave. 

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard noise outside the windows, alerting him to the Doctor’s arrival. It was about time for the Doctor to arrive home anyway and he hurried towards the entrance where he’d remove the bar and let him in. 

BANG!

Dwight nearly jumped out of his skin. From the main hall, another loud bang ricocheted down the corridors. Someone was banging against the doors, trying to get in. It didn’t sound like knocking. It sounded like someone was trying to break them open. 

He paused at the end of the entrance hall to look. The doors gave a shudder. The bar moved to the side, and with his heart jumping into his throat, Dwight ran over to catch it. But the bar slid free with a final, heavy bang, the doors flying open and Dwight falling backwards in shock. 

Two figures immediately ran inside, whooping and hollering and calling for Dr. Carter to stop ignoring them. When they saw Dwight, they swarmed around him, trapping him against the wall. He backed up, recognizing half of the Legion - a troublesome group of teenagers that would sometimes break in and try to cause havoc. They weren’t necessarily blood-thirsty. But they were violent. He knew these two were the more hot-headed of the group - Julie and Frank. 

What the hell were they doing here?!

“Hey! Where the fuck is Herman?” Frank asked, jamming a finger in Dwight’s chest. “We heard he was looking for those flowers and we brought a shit-load. He’s been giving out rewards to Evan and that fuckin’ clown, right?” 

“I- uh, I-” Dwight struggled for only a few seconds, before Julie (a head taller than Frank) shoved him roughly out of the way. He fell with a yelp into the floor. Julie raised an arm over Dwight’s head, leaning against the wall and invading his personal space with a wide grin. 

“Dr. Herman’s been helping the Clown too, we hear. Makin’ his bottles do all kinds of cool shit. We want favors too. And we have something we don’t think your Doctor can refuse.”

“Where is he anyway, uh, what’s your name again?” Frank asked. 

Julie rolled her eyes. “His name is Jason, idiot.”

Dwight didn’t bother to correct them. They never got his name right. They usually called him by a demeaning nickname anyway. Jason wasn’t too bad compared to those. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever the lab rat’s name is,” Frank shoved Julie back out of the way. “Herman’ll give us what we want if we have those flowers, right? We found some purple ones. That’s gotta get us something killer.”

Purple pustula flowers? Shit. Dwight knew Dr. Carter had said no more experiments, but he didn’t truly believe him. Dwight was terrified to find out what the purple ones did. His body ached already. 

“Uh, he went out- but he’ll be back soon!” Dwight scrambled to say something, anything. The words felt like chalk in his mouth. “You can wait outside for him. I don’t think Dr. Carter would like-”

“It’s cold out there,” Frank slung an arm around Dwight’s shoulders, pulling him from the wall and casually walking further into the Institute. “You don’t mind if we hang out while we wait, do you Jason?”

“I- I guess not,” Dwight swallowed thickly.

Frank ruffled his hair hard enough to make his head spin, before shoving him fully away, and running down the hall. Julie followed behind, laughing, saying something about never getting to explore inside the place. Dwight’s heart hammered in worry. He jogged after them.

When Frank found a line of delicate test tubes and beakers, he picked one up, looking at the red liquid sealed inside. That was the last of the red pustula that Dr. Carter was working on. Dwight nearly choked on his own spit as he ran over, trying to grab it from Frank’s hand. The killer just raised his arms over his head, as if studying it from beneath. Dwight was too short, and too embarrassed, to make a jump for it. 

“Please! Dr. Carter will be so upset!”

“Fuck’s sake, calm down, Jason.” Frank flicked his forehead, then shoved his face away. He did, blessedly, set the beaker down. It was too close to the edge for Dwight’s comfort, but he was too intimidated to push past the Legion member to ease it back to safety. 

“What’s old Herman been up to anyway?” Julie asked, sauntering over and fully boxing Dwight in. “What’s the red stuff?”

“Um, it’s… I’m sure Dr. Carter will be more than happy to talk about it when he gets back…” Dwight desperately tried to think of anything to steer the conversation to safer waters. “Especially if you really have a purple pustula specimen. We haven’t seen that before and I think the Doctor will be really happy.”

“Happy enough to give us a reward?” 

Dwight wasn’t sure. But before he could answer, Frank pushed him into the wall. 

“Seriously, we want whatever reward or tools or shit he gave that clown freak.” 

Frank’s arms shifted. Dwight flinched, expecting to get stabbed. But the satchel was only pushed into his chest, hard enough to knock the breath out of him before he could properly grab it. Frank flipped the lid open and - inside - was a mess of crushed pustula flowers. Of course, they wouldn’t be properly maintained. The juices could get on them and who knows what the effects could be. Dwight paled and tried to close the lid, despite Frank grabbing his wrist, and asking again, if this would get them what they wanted. 

“L-let me put them in proper storage!” Dwight squeaked. “Dr. Carter will be very interested in these. He’ll reward you properly for them. I promise.” He swallowed, embarrassed by how shaky his voice was. He sounded like he would cry. “Please, please, just sit down.”

Frank only laughed, shoving away and leaving the flowers with Dwight. He quickly wrapped them back up. Julie grabbed his shoulder, and Dwight couldn’t help but curl in on himself, her touch unwanted and scalding.

 “Stop looking like you’re gonna piss yourself,” she said. “We wouldn’t hurt Herman’s precious little pet. We’re not that stupid.”

“Yeah, Jason, lighten up,” Frank had found a chair to slide around and sit backwards on, his gestures were all exaggerated and childish. He held up his hands. “Look, I won’t even touch anything. I’ll sit and be good.”

Julie laughed. “We’ll see how long that lasts.” 

Instead of sitting, she wandered around the room, looking and touching to her heart’s desire. Dwight went to put the purple pustula in containers. When he took off his gloves and placed the flowers in a safe place, he went back to find Julie and Frank gone.

“Shit…”

The chair was empty and the door was left ajar. Nothing was broken. That was a small relief. But having two teenage killers out of sight put his nerves on edge. That slight panic was overridden by the fear of them touching, and breaking, and making a mess of the Doctor’s things. He ran out into the hall, cold anxiety rolling under his skin, making him feel floaty. 

He tripped over himself, skidding to his knees and hurting his hands when he was startled by another figure turning the corner. They were much taller, brandishing a weapon and looking terrifyingly angry. Dwight didn’t even hear him arrive in his panic. He didn’t feel the electricity now crawling up his flesh and making his hairs stand up. Dr. Carter’s arm wrapped around waist, hauling him upright, It was brief, crushing and painful. He was dropped to his feet. 

“Who’s here?” Dr. Carter demanded. 

“Legion,” Dwight said immediately. “I-I tried to stop them-”

“Where are they?” The Doctor ignored his panicky excuses. 

“Um, I don’t know,” Dwight admitted. “They broke in and gave me p-pustula flowers. I put them away but they snuck off.”

Dr. Carter’s eyes lit up, his anger softening just a bit. “What color?” 

Dwight knew, even before he said it, that Dr. Carter’s excitement would outpace his anger. “Purple.”

Predictably, the Doctor’s grin pulled impossibly wider and he clasped Dwight’s shoulders, squeezing them. 

“Good. Is the entirety of the Legion here?” 

“Just… two.” Dwight knew where this was going. “Frank and Julie.”

Dr. Carter didn’t care for their names. He stood straight, hand to his chin as he entertained the terrible ideas dancing in that head. “Prepare the flowers. Go to the observatory with the serum and wait for me there.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

---

Dwight’s stomach twisted sickly as he tried to ignore the screams. The loud surge of electricity pierced the air. Dwight felt it crawl through his body. He’d been in the radius of a severe electric blast before. 

He pitied the poor Legion. Especially when the blast happened a third time. Julie and Frank’s screams were getting hoarse. Dr. Carter had caught them several minutes ago. Dwight trembled as he finished prepping everything, sick to his stomach at the thought of walking in on a torture session. 

Not a few minutes later, Dwight was witness to two badly beaten and electrocuted Legion. Frank was still weakly fighting, but his arms wouldn’t work right. Neither did their legs. Dr. Carter had them held up by the back of their hoodies, dragging them along the ground carelessly. 

The Doctor lit up upon seeing his assistant and everything ready to go. “Excellent job, Dwight!” 

He put the Legion in the chamber, tossing them quite literally to the other end of the room and slamming the door shut. Dwight was greeted with a hand to the shoulder, Dr. Carter’s presence kept him anchored to the panel where the serum was pumped. The bright purple vial sat patiently in the slot. Dr. Carter gestured to the little red button that would turn it into gas. 

“You do the honors,” he said, voice trembling with excitement. He looked like a bird of prey, observing two wounded mice. He leaned down, his body weight pressing Dwight closer to the window. his mind conjuring all kinds of violent theories. The panel edge dug painfully into Dwight’s hip but he didn’t dare say anything to ruin the moment. 

Dwight pressed the button, not looking up from the vial as its contents were quickly chugged. Dr. Carter’s hand squeezed hard on his shoulder. 

“I know you’re squeamish, Dwight, But you need to get over that. This is the unveiling of the Entity’s powers. This is our life's work. So look up and watch.” 

Dwight bit his lip and looked up, watching as Julie crawled over Frank, as if to protect him from the purple gas enveloping them. 

“Good boy.”

Dwight felt his stomach flip-flop sickly. He swallowed thickly, fighting the oncoming urge to panic and scream and hyperventilate. He fought with himself. He should be grateful that he wasn’t the one inhaling that gas. He should be grateful that the Doctor suddenly seemed to think of him as more worthy than a punching bag. 

Be good, be good, be good-

The mantra both grounded and disturbed him. It also kept him quiet, watching as Julie and Frank sputtered and choked, their hands grasping uselessly at their throats. Julie suddenly screamed, her hands flying up to cover the left side of her face. Frank reached out to her, only to rear back and grab at his own face, legs kicking feverishly against the hard floor. 

Dr. Carter’s breath caught in his throat. Dwight’s throat closed up in sympathy. Between Julie’s fingers pressed against her face, purple petals and dark leaves were leaking free, gushing from where her eye would be. Frank was face down, but Dwight assumed he was suffering similarly.

The two suddenly were completely limp, slumping like dolls as if their strings cut. Julie’s hands fell away, showing one open eye, slack mouth, and a bouquet of purple flowers gushing from her other eye socket. Dwight felt Dr. Carter hold his breath, waiting on whatever was going to happen next. Dwight could only hope it was so anti-climatic, but Julie twitched. She tried to sit up, but fell back down. 

She laughed, smiling. Dr. Carter made a noise of confusion. Dwight was similarly stumped, cocking his head as Julie lifted herself up on her elbows, looking around like the lights in the ceiling was a glimpse at the warmth of long forgotten sunlight. 

She laughed again, an uncontrollable giggle, and rolled over to grab at Frank’s shoe. The flowers in her head were still slightly growing, vines and leaves swaying along her cheek and curling at her neck. 

Dwight feared they would keep going until they consumed her, but luckily, the growth seemed to stunt there. Dr. Carter seems much more disappointed by their sudden lack of growth. He muttered about wishing he had more serum to vent. 

Frank was attempting to sit up. He was giggling as much as Julie now, his eyes just as overgrown with purple flowers. The two tried to help the other stand, but they kept falling over each other. They seemed to find that hilarious, limbs flailing and apologies interrupted by fits of laughter. Several minutes passed. Nothing else changed, and Julie and Frank still couldn’t find their footing. 

Dr. Carter gave a sigh and - finally, graciously - pulled away. Dwight’s stomach ached as he pulled it off the panel’s edge. He didn’t rub at it like he wanted, scared Dr. Carter might see and act weird about it. Lately, it felt like Dwight couldn’t read the Doctor as well as he used to. Both of them had changed in such a short amount of time. 

“It’s like they've consumed cannabis,” the Doctor was muttering, obviously displeased by this outcome. 

Then he stilled, eyes flickering to Dwight. The assistant stiffened. But the Doctor only asked him to clean up and report any changes in the subjects. Dwight nodded and got to work, wincing at the slam of the door. The Legion never stopped giggling. 

---

“Despite my interest in the odd colorings, the orange pustula is still a seasonal ingredient. I think the Legion are prime subjects to test a new concentration, hm? It’s so potent, you can feel the heat through the vial. I used the last of our orange supply, but I think the observations will be worth it. Who knows how it will react with the purple serum.”

Dr. Carter happily lowered the neon-bright serum. He’d been gone for only thirty or so minutes. In that time, he’d prepared a terrible torture device. Dwight only reached out close enough to appease the Doctor, fretfully looking between the bright serum and the Legion. They were still in the chambers, having been left for observation. 

The purple pustulas eventually fell from their empty eye sockets, but dead leaves and vines were left hanging there. Both killers had stopped giggling long ago, and instead huddled together, talking quietly and flipping off the ceiling every now and then. Dr. Carter had chained their ankles to the center of the floor after they both jumped him when he thought they’d been unconscious. 

They were so young. And as troublesome as they used to be in the past, they had never hurt Dwight. They had enough humanity to respect him as a human, even if they thought they were better than him. 

But he had no say here. Dwight had just helped the Doctor prepare the batch of pustula. Dr. Carter, every blight season, had made huge strides in the potential of the orange pustula plant. Some killers even traded for the serum, which during trials would turn killers into ravenous, blood-thirsty machines. 

Carter would modify the serums, stripping away the negative effects of pure pustula sap, and leaving only the good. Though, Dr. Carter only had a few loyal customers. Most killers found the transformation too painful and disorienting, despite all the advantages it could bring. 

This serum, though, looked potent enough to sear flesh. Dr. Carter was doing this to simply be cruel. To torture, and see the heights of that agony. Dwight hated these kinds of experiments the most, even if he wasn’t the one being experimented on. 

The poor Legion, with what their bodies went through, might not survive this experiment. Dwight didn’t want to hear them scream. He didn’t want to see these kids try to protect each other, as fruitless as it was. 

So when Dr. Carter asked him to do the honours and passed the vial to be pressed into the panel, Dwight hesitated. A million thoughts raced through his head. For a moment, he debated straight up smashing the vial against the controls, letting himself be infected just to give the Legion more time to recover. But he was too scared to be outright defiant. 

In a split second decision, Dwight pretended to lose his grip and let the orange serum splat near his feet. He jumped back, just missing being speckled with the dangerous stuff. The shift in mood was immediate. Dwight bit hard into the side of his mouth, looking up fearfully to see the Doctor no longer smiling, glaring at him with an intensity fit to kill. 

“I’m so-” 

Thwack! 

Pain, all too familiar, lit up the side of his face. He crumpled, completely blinded by the single punch. Shards dug into his palms. He gasped and tried to rear back, head throbbing and blood sliding down his wrists, the vibrant serum swirling like metal gold in the red. 

Dr. Carter grabbed him by the back of his coat before the sharp burning pain could really set in. He was thrown heavily into the wall, and curled up, arms over his head and protecting himself from the several vicious kicks. 

All at once, the Doctor stopped, dropping to his knees, and gathering a shaking Dwight up into his arms. Dwight didn’t dare resist, sobbing in pain as his head was forced up and rough thumbs wiped away his tears. Dr. Carter’s eyes quivered as he took Dwight’s wrist, bright blue eyes reflecting the gold of the pustula serum coating his hands. 

“I suppose not all is lost,” came his thoughtful reply. He stood, nearly ripping Dwight’s arm from its socket (at least, that’s what it felt like) as he dragged him back to the viewing window. Dr. Carter stared at the bored prisoners. 

“Dwight,” he said, dropping his wrists. 

The pain was starting to melt into his hands, searing his skin. Soon, it’d take hold of his veins and spread through his body. Dwight hated the orange plant. He hated it. But his face reflected no warring thoughts. He just sniffled, too scared to wipe more fluid on himself by wiping at his running nose and wet face, and obediently went down to the theatre. 

The door was heavy. He wore gloves to keep the blood-serum combo off the already dirty metal, and stepped inside to two dirty glares. He looked at his feet, shutting the door and biting his lip to stop it from trembling. His body started to ache. 

He didn’t want to do this. When he pulled his gloves off, skin peeling off in chunks and his wrists glowing with orange veins, the Legion cursed, immediately realizing what Dr. Carter had just sent into the cell - a ticking time bomb. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to get out before the wall of agony hit him and he dropped like a brick. 

Dwight never can recall what happens during a blight-fueled frenzy. All he knows is anger and pain. He doesn’t see two Legion. He sees gray skin and blue eyes and a bloody lab coat. He screams, but his voice doesn’t sound like his own. It sounds seething and animalistic. Metal coats the inside of his mouth, under his fingernails and runs in warm rivulets down his skin. 

The agony that coursed through him has turned to brilliant, throbbing pain, just excruciating enough to feel good. The more he rips and tears and bites, the more that pain borderline turns to pleasure. 

And then he woke up. 

Dwight was sweaty and cold. His mouth ached and his stomach turned coldly, like he’d caught the flu and had been vomiting the last several days. He swallowed thickly, pulling himself from his disorienting sleep, and looking around. He was in his room, in his cot. He shoved off the blanket in a fit, sickened by the realization of what he had done. Of what he’d enjoyed. 

“I’m sick,” he put a hand over his mouth, disgusted. 

Dr. Carter had never made him kill someone before. It'd always just been Dwight taking those risks. He gagged, throwing his legs over the thin mattress and pressing his bare feet into the cold floor. His shoes, socks and lab coat had been folded and placed at the foot of the cot. He took several minutes to himself before re-dressing and dutifully heading out to find Dr. Carter. 

I don’t want to. He thought. 

His eyes darted to the exit sign flashing tauntingly over his head. It was right around the corner. It was like the realm was taunting him. Dwight thought about the Legion, about poor Frank and Julie. Even if they died, as long as Dr. Carter had them chained, they’d appear right back in that theatre. If Dr. Carter wanted, he could keep them until the blight season ended and the Entity roused awake enough to snatch them back for resuming trials. 

“Psst.” 

Dwight jumped out of his skin. He spun, his back hitting the wall as he stared wide-eyed at the tall, cob-webbed window. One of the survivors that he’d played poker with - Jake - was smirking at him from a crack in the glass. He looked like he was balancing on something. 

“W-what are you doing here?” Dwight hissed, urgency and fear making him feel even sicker. “If Dr. Carter finds you-”

Jake held up a hand, seemingly unbothered by the warning. “He won’t even know I’m here. I came to check on you, actually.”

“Oh… really?” Dwight didn’t know what to say to that. “Why?”

Jake shrugged. “Told the Death- er- I told Caleb that I would. He asked.”

“About me?” Dwight’s face heated up immediately. The sickly feeling was dusted over by butterflies. A sly grin spread over Jake’s face. 

“Yeah, he was worried about you. Anyway, looks like you’re alive, so I’ll let him know.” Dwight’s disappointment sprung high, despite knowing how dangerous it was for the survivor to stay. But Jake didn’t disappear. He just checked up and down the hall. 

“Where is he anyway?’

By he, Dwight knew he meant the Doctor. “Um, I’m not sure. I was just on my way to find him…” Dwight said, his words reluctant. 

“It’s a bummer here,” Jake said. “Let’s ditch this place. Come on,” he held out a hand, and Dwight blinked up at it. 

“I c-can’t!” he said, covering his mouth at the severity of the exclamation. “I can’t…”

“It’s Blight Season,” Jake said. “You can do whatever you want.”

“Until it ends,” Dwight said, more forcefully than he wanted. He looked away, embarrassed and feeling out of place. “S-sorry. Listen, Jake… I appreciate you coming here, but if I left out of nowhere…? As soon as the season ends and I’m forced back here, Dr. Carter will make my life hell.”

“We’re in hell already, aren’t we?” Jake questioned. He seemed to overlook Dwight’s rational fear and it made the assistant feel a bubble of anger. “Besides, me and the survivors were talking about you…”

Dwight froze up. He didn’t know how that made him feel. He did feel awkward enough to stop talking and let Jake talk. 

“We think you should come to our camp. A few survivors had roles before playing in the trials. When they found us, they stayed. I think that’ll happen to you too.”

“And be killed every day in horrible ways?” Dwight asked. That sounded horrific. But Jake’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, pursing his lips like he was weighing the pros and cons. 

“It’s not as bad as you’d think. And there’s so many survivors now that you start to get bored in between your own matches. We have lots of free time, and some of the survivors even like the trials. The pain is second to the adrenaline and the rush of escape.”

Dwight didn’t know what to say. Jake just stared, letting him think it over, letting his poor mind conjure up forbidden images of friendship, camp-fires and… and seeing Caleb whenever he wanted. He turned away. Jake didn’t say anything, but Dwight felt his presence, quiet and patient. 

“I don’t know,” he finally stammered. “I don’t know, Jake. This is too much. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean… If I go in trials, at one point, I’ll have to face Dr. Carter.”

“Trials have rules,” Jake said. “There’s several different killers that, if they could, would torture me and ignore the other survivors entirely. But they can’t. The Entity keeps it fair. Besides, we already talked about that. We’d keep you hidden, annoy the fuck out of him, and keep him distracted until we escaped.”

“R-really? I mean, you’d do that?” 

“Yeah. We do it for a few survivors already. Laurie has a hard time dealing with the Shape. And we haven’t let The Nightmare even see Quentin since he’s been here.”

Dwight grew quiet. He wanted to, but the permanence of the choice was smashing his resolve to bits with fear. “I- I don’t know!” Dwight said again, louder, his voice more shaky. Jake’s eyes widened a little and he leaned forward. 

“You’re okay, Dwight. Just think on it, okay? There’s no time limit on making the choice.”

“I… okay, yeah, okay,” Dwight nodded, wanting to slap himself for almost losing his cool. He was better than that. “Um, I really have to go, Jake. But thanks for coming… If you see Caleb, tell him I said hi.”

Jake was smiling again. “You gonna go see him soon? You should, next time you’re out scavenging.”

“Oh.” Dwight deflated. Right. “I can’t. Um, Dr. Carter is keeping me under house arrest at the moment.”

“What? Why?” Jake said it like a teenager hearing his friend got grounded by too-strict parents. It would have been funny, if not for the situation. 

Dwight looked left to right, as if said killer would suddenly run around either corner. “Look, Jake. I really need to go. I made a bad mistake and I can’t make it worse than it already is.”

Jake frowned, eyebrows pulling together. “There’s no punishment at the camp. After trials, we eat, sing, dance and talk. There’s nothing but support,” Jake’s face stayed deadly serious as he spoke, emphasizing the safety of the camp. “Killers can’t enter our territory either. There’s no threats there.”

Silence permeated the air. Dwight sucked in his bottom lip. His stomach turned and he wanted to cry. Why!? Why was he even standing here, why was he even considering this?! He jumped, looking up with a jump. Jake had crawled through the window and fell neatly to the tiles below. He took Dwight by the shoulders, telling him to breathe. 

“You okay?” 

Dwight reached up, clasping the warm hand on his shoulder. The weight of it made his eyes water more heavily. He closed them. 

“I want to leave,” Dwight finally said. “But… but I can’t. Not yet. I need to free the two Legion that Dr. Carter has here. If I leave, I know he’ll torture them out of anger. I can’t do that to them.”

“Which ones?” Jake asked, quirking a brow. 

“Frank and Julie.”

“Skull mask and pink hair?” 

“No, the other ones.” 

Jake sighed, but nodded. “Alright, fine. I’ll go on a little rescue mission for those assholes. They aren’t the worst killers to play against.”

“Wait, you’re going to stay?” 

“And help,” Jake clarified. 

“Why-”

“Don’t ask why,” Jake patted his shoulder. “In this realm, we survive by helping each other. If you’re willing to help the Legion, then I’m willing to help you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to argue that Jake could get hurt, that things would go wrong. But the confidence radiating from him was like a cocoon of reassurance. So instead, he said, “Thank you.”

“It’s what friends are for.”

Dwight’s heart leapt at the title: friends. He grinned, and Jake matched the expression. 

“First lesson as a survivor,” Jake said. “Have a plan.”

---

“Dwight! There you are,” the Doctor was in his lab. Dwight had knocked on the door, having just left Jake with instructions to go to the theatre room and unchain the Legion. Dwight had no idea how long he had to keep the Doctor in one spot. 

Dwight gulped upon seeing the green pustula petals he’d been prepping. What the fuck. Where did those come from? How did he get them so fast?! How many damn colors were there?!

Dwight was sure that he was still in trouble and all kinds of horrific images came to mind, each one more painful than the last as Dwight’s hyper mind guessed what a green serum might do. He jumped, looking up as a shadow loomed over him. 

Dwight’s face turned red as Dr. Carter clasped it between two heavy hands as if to inspect. He had to stand on his tippy-toes to keep the strain off his neck, before Dr. Carter finally let him go, patting the top of his head like an obedient dog. He fidgeted nervously. 

Dwight didn’t want to bring attention to the green pustula, but Dr. Carter pressed a hand to his back, leading him to the table to explain in excruciating detail what he was doing. A hand gripped his shoulder. It didn’t let go. 

“We have two perfect specimens for this, but I need to reset the female,” Dr. Carter said, using the polite term for ‘killing’. “Despite your mistake, I had enough serum to use on the male after they regenerated.” He giggled. “He held himself back enough to only maim her. It was a drastically different reaction to your change.”

He rambled on. Dwight didn’t even have to utter a single word, yet he was doing a pretty good job as a distraction. It was shocking how little his mistake was being brought up. He expected at least a lecture. 

When the Doctor asked him to finish the prep-work while he checked to see if Julie had died yet. Dwight had to restrain himself from shouting no! He instead sucked in a harsh breath and faked indifference. 

“I can check on them if you’d like-”
A hand clasped over his mouth, but it was big enough to pretty much smother his whole face. Dwight shut up, ignoring the pain of his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. 

“Dwight. We already had one mistake made. Let’s not get too mouthy, either.” It was said like a polite suggestion. Dwight nodded. The hand peeled away with a short burst of static. Dwight flinched and stepped back. The Doctor turned back to leave. 

Jake was gonna be caught! Terrible things were going to happen to him! Dwight would be forced to help in his agony! 

No. 

A surge of anger and indignance raced through his body. Dwight grabbed a scalpel off a side table and, as Dr. Carter turned, stabbed him in the collar. Dr. Carter gasped in shock. 

Electricity spasmed around the room, almost crippling Dwight, who made a mad sprint for the door. As he turned the corner, an inhumane roar shook the halls. Electricity raced after him like a greyhound after a rabbit, the pain clutching his legs and making it hard to run.

What did I do, what did I do!? Dwight wanted to take it back. He was sorry. He didn’t mean it. He just didn’t want Jake to get hurt. 

“DWIGHT!!!” Dr. Carter shrieked. 

Dwight fled around a corner, jumping behind a stack of crates and slapping a hand over his whimpering mouth. He couldn’t stop his short, breathy whines. Adrenaline was squeezing his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. He stopped sucking in air altogether when Dr. Carter ran past, screaming for his “ disloyal, little shit of an assistant, ” to come out. 

He needed to find Jake. Dwight got up and ran the other way. His footsteps were too loud. So was his heartbeat. He feared that Dr. Carter would hear it. But, like blessed, forbidden sunlight, he saw the neon sign for the theatre. He dashed over.

The room was empty. He ran to the viewing window to find the chains no longer holding prisoners. The door was ajar. Tension fled his body, even if the fear didn’t. Jake was out. He escaped with the Legion, and now no one but Dwight had to face the consequences. 

But he didn’t want to. 

Dwight wanted to leave. 

He wanted to go to the campfire. 

…

Indecision warred in his heart. He forced himself to push away from the panel, knowing that if he didn’t choose now, he’d wait until Dr. Carter found him. Dwight was sick of it. He was sick of the Institute. If he didn’t leave now, the Doctor might use those empty chains on him, keeping him locked up like some animal. 

He ran into the hall. Jake had told him to meet at the exit, that he would wait for him. Would he really? There was a sharp pain at the thought that it too would be empty. But when he saw the red exit sign, blinking lazily over a potted plant, he saw Jake. The survivor was anxiously looking left to right, and when he saw Dwight, his eyes lit up and he ran to meet him halfway. 

“Come on,” Jake said, reaching out to snag his hand. 

Dwight gripped it back, too scared to feel self-conscious about how sweaty he was. The Legion were nowhere in sight, but Dwight didn’t question it. Of course they wouldn’t risk their necks to hang out and wait for Dwight. But Jake did. And Dwight felt a spark of admiration as he followed the survivor out of the Institute.

Dr. Carter was still screaming for him, voice muffled but powerful as it bellowed deeper in the facility. Dwight looked back, but Jake tugged him forward, telling him to keep his eyes forward. 

“We aren’t safe yet,” he said. “But stay close and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Dwight could only nod, barely able to breath as they broke into the treeline. They disappeared into the forest. Those first frantic footfalls felt surreal. He was leaving his home. He was leaving behind his Doctor.

Chapter 7

He felt like he was in a daze. Jake’s grip on his hand was firm, but it didn’t hurt. It was grounding in a way that kept Dwight’s legs moving, despite feeling as if they belonged to someone else. 

He left. Dwight had stabbed his Doctor and ran away. It still felt incomprehensible, as if he had woken up from a dream, as if he would wake up and be back there, as if he never had the courage to leave, as if-

“Hey. You still with me?” 

Dwight blinked, tears in his eyes as Jake’s concerned face came into focus. 

“I… I stabbed Dr. Carter,” Dwight said in a quiet voice, as if making a confession. 

“Oh,” Jake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his voice retained a neutral, though cautious tone. “Are you okay?”

“I hurt Dr. Carter,” Dwight repeated. 

He couldn’t say anything else because he couldn’t think of anything else. He always dreamed of other possibilities in life - different paths. He dreamed of escape. But he had never dreamed of harming the Doctor. He looked down at his hands. The right was coated in sluggish dark blood, the other speckled across the palm. They were trembling badly. Jake grabbed something from his belt - a piece of rag - and started to wipe Dwight’s hands clean, going quiet as he wiped the blood clean with a few swipes of the dirty rag. 

“There. Oh wait,” Jake paused, turning to the rag’s clean side and gently dabbing Dwight’s cheek. “Okay. All clean… Do you wanna sit?” 

It took Dwight a few moments to fully process that question. Jake waited silently until Dwight shook his head. 

“No. We should keep moving.” 

“Okay,” Jake nodded slowly and, as if waiting to see if Dwight was okay with it, gently took his hand again. They started the trek again in silence, but Dwight felt a lot less frazzled. Jake was here. Jake was going to take him to the camp, and then… Dwight stopped himself before he could panic again, staring down at the back of Jake’s head. 

One foot in front of the other, Dwight, he told himself. I can freak out later.

They adopted a cautious but leisurely pace. There was a need to be quiet now, to trek carefully through these territories or risk Dwight being slaughtered and sent back home. Jake kept looking back at him like he was afraid he’d bolt. Dwight had to keep reassuring himself not to. 

“Try not to think about it,” Jake said. “Easier said than done… but once we’re at camp, you won’t have to deal with any killer until the blight season is over.”

It was funny, how fond Jake was of the season. Dwight always loathed it. While it meant respite for the survivors, it always meant more experiments and body horror for Dwight. Eventually, they slowed when they reached a darker section of the forest. Dwight rarely trekked this far out, but he recognized the area even before Jake spoke. 

“This is Evan’s estate, right?” Dwight asked. 

“Is that the Trapper’s name?” Jake asked, genuinely curious. Dwight nodded. “Weird to hear he has one, the bastard.”

“You don’t like him?” Dwight was surprised. Evan never spoke to him, but he was always polite and cordial with Dr. Carter. He never seemed to share his joy of suffering and pain (though he didn’t seem repulsed by such things either). He seemed like a man who wanted to do his job and do it well. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“He hates survivors,” Jake said. “Goes out of his way to make his bear-traps extra painful. His bear-traps aren’t anything compared to some killers’ powers, though.”

“I didn’t know that. I’ve never really talked to him. But Dr. Carter and him do a lot of business. Evan doesn’t like coming to the institute though, so he usually comes here.”

Jake’s face firmed up. “We’ll go the long way. Watch your feet. He sets his traps all over the place, even outside his border.”

They hadn’t had much trouble passing other territories, and Dwight hoped that this chunk of the journey would yield similar results. Jake’s hand gave a squeeze as he stopped, urging Dwight behind him. They crouched. The survivor held up a finger, and further ahead, came the subtle rustle of the woods. Dwight would have missed it completely if not for the other. 

Seconds later, a hulking figure lumbered passed. Dwight sucked in a breath, holding it as Evan - The Trapper - bent down to set a trap. He groaned as he straightened, rubbing at his back and stretching. He took a moment to look around, then moved along. 

Jake waited several seconds before standing. He avoided the newly set trap. Dwight couldn’t even see the dark metal, despite Jake pointing it out. He made sure to follow the survivor’s footsteps exactly, too scared to step out of line and into a stray trap. He was so intent on keeping pace, he bumped into Jake’s stilled back. 

  “Wait,” Jake’s eyes narrowed as he took Dwight’s wrist. He scanned the trees behind them. “Shit… he’s tracking us.” 

“Wha-” Dwight cut himself off as Jake shoved him forward. He fell into a bush just as Trapper emerged from the bushes, eerily silent and with a cleaver raised over his head, aimed for Jake’s skull.

Dwight was supposed to run. Logically, Jake would die and go back to the campfire. Dwight would just have to make it there himself. But in a moment of panic, as if he’d lose this new friend forever, he threw himself between survivor and killer. 

“No! Wait, please, Evan!” Dwight begged, hands held out wide. “Let him live! Please!” 

Evan snorted. His weapon lowered to his side, but not all the way. “The hell? You’re with the damned saboteur?” He laughed humorlessly. “Great. One fucking chance to main this little fucker and he’s with you.”

“I… you’re letting us go?” Dwight asked fearfully, hands only lowering slightly, as if his fleshy palms could protect from a slicing blade. 

“If he’s with you. And I know for a fact that Carter would drop dead before working with a survivor,” Evan said it like Dwight was being stupid. He flinched, and he could practically feel the eye roll behind his mask. “I can’t believe you actually found the guts to leave that freak doctor.”

Dwight was silent. Jake looked between the two before carefully getting up. 

“Um… thanks,” Dwight didn’t know what else to say. 

“Don’t thank me,” Evan growled. “Just get out of my territory. And you - saboteur,” a thick finger pointed down at the survivor, who glared back, immediately defensive. “If you weren’t helping the lab rat here, I’d be skinning you right now. Don’t let me catch you back here.”

“Yes, sir ,” Jake bit out sarcastically. 

Trapper snorted. “And don’t set off my traps. I don’t want to be cleaning blood off the teeth unless I have to.” 

He turned around to stalk away. Dwight felt the urge to call out another thank you, but he refrained, getting the impression that Evan would find it irksome. He felt Jake grab him by the shoulder, his hand shaky despite his firm voice. 

“Let’s go.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dwight’s mouth felt dry. He forced himself to look forward. “Okay. Lead the way.”

From the poor soul Rin, to the elusive Huntress, to a crying Nurse, Jake expertly led them through the multitude of killer territories without any more incidents. The killers were either out of their realm, or too busy with the precious time the blight season lent them to worry beyond their work. 

It seemed as if they really would make it to the campfire. Hope blossomed warm in Dwight’s chest. And then he heard the circus music. His poor heart dropped. He dug his heels into the ground, and Jake looked back questioningly at him. 

“What’s up?” 

“I… we should go around,” Dwight said. 

Jake looked behind him, quiet as he listened to the music. He looked back and frowned sympathetically. “We have to go through. After the Clown, there’s The Artist and then the campfire. That’s it, then we’re home. Do you need a moment to rest? We can sit.”

Dwight shook his head. “N-no. No, I’m okay.” He nodded, steeling himself. He wasn’t going to let someone like Kenneth hold him back. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Keep close,” Jake advised.

They kept to the stone walls that had been growing narrower as they traveled to the edges of the Entity’s realm. Jake said the campfire sat at the very end of everything, and if you tried to climb the wall, there was nothing but a void. 

The circus music grew louder. Grass turned to battered dirt and a carriage on huge, comical wheels came into view. Dwight paused at the gray, boney horse folded up alongside it. Jake pulled Dwight back into the trees, closer to the wall when the horse turned its head, a third eye blinking at the spot they’d just been.

Jake held his breath, letting it loose when the horse lowered back down to sleep. “That thing gives me the creeps…”

“Is that a horse?” 

“I think. It’s in trials sometimes. I won’t do generators near it. It likes to stare.”

Dwight and Jake crept along, further into the circus area. The trees thinned out almost completely, and the duo jogged from tent to colorful tent. Jake suddenly reared back, putting a finger to his lips. He nodded up ahead, and Dwight peeked around the tent flap, going wide-eyed at the sight of the Clown far ahead, mingling about the rows of boxes and faded cut-outs. 

Dwight’s heart felt like it might beat right out of his chest. He pulled back, vision blurry with a sudden onset of fear-induced tears. 

“J-jake,” Dwight stammered quietly. “I can’t- I don’t think I can keep going.”

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Jake reassured, clasping his hand in both of his. “Take some deep breaths with me.” Jake started to inhale, breathing through a pattern that Dwight clumsily tried to mimic. He breathed deeply until it felt like his throat wouldn’t close up. 

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. The Clown is one of the worst killers. I get it,” he paused, licking his lips as he surveyed the area, thinking. The clown’s territory grew narrower, and they wouldn't have a great chance at sneaking pass. The campfire was so close…

“Okay, listen. I’m going to distract him,” Jake said, holding a hand up as soon as Dwight started to protest.

 “No, listen. I can outrun him. I do it all the time. He’s slow and careless. You need to run ahead, through The Artist’s territory and to the fire. The Artist doesn’t bother us as long as we don’t bother her, so just run. I’ll meet you at the fire.”

Dwight wanted to shake his head no, but he didn’t want to undermine Jake’s abilities. If he was confident enough to outrun the Clown, then Dwight would trust him.

“O-okay. Okay. Just promise you won’t get caught,” Dwight stressed. “He’s… the Clown 

“I won’t,” Jake smiled, confident in himself. “I’m going to run ahead. You follow close behind, hide, and then pass through when you get a good opportunity.”

“Got it,” Dwight nodded, trying and failing to match his confidence. 

Jake patted his hand, then peeled away, looking back several times as they crawled closer and closer to the main train of caravans - a red line of whimsically colorful trailers, connected by rotten tailgates. 

The Clown was humming, wandering around the train, cleaning the area after an obvious practice session with his aim. Glass littered everything, and they had to watch their feet for the glitter of stray shards. At least until they were in a better position. 

Jake nodded once to Dwight, then took off in a full sprint, running past a bewildered Clown. Kenneth choked on a shocked swallow of phlegm, then recovered, wiping at his mouth and giving chase. 

“Fuckin’ saboteur!” The Clown laughed. “Oh, just wait until I carve up those hook-ruining hands!” 

Dwight felt a powerful instinctual urge to run after them and take the chase, but he peeled himself from his hiding spot and dashed towards the tree line several yards past the train. He heard the crash of glass. 

Jake didn’t scream though. 

It was the only reason he kept running, straight into The Artist’s territory. 

---

True to Jake’s word, the crow-like killer didn’t bug him. She didn’t even show her face as he trampled through the territory in a panicked rush. Without Jake, he felt like he might float right off the face of this realm.  The Artist’s territory was mainly pale stone and a tower of huge brick. He could hear crows mingling in the stone walls, but the area was short (if ominous and scary) and soon returned to woodland without incident. 

The light of the campfire glowed in the distance not long after. When he saw it through the tree trunks, his gait startled into a clumsy halt and he tripped over himself. 

Permanence. 

Once he crossed into the campfire, was that it? 

Was he a survivor now? 

Would the Entity awaken and just throw him right back to the Doctor? 

He frowned, feeling sick, wishing that Jake was here to wash away the swirl of erratic thoughts with his straight-forward reasoning. 

Instead, Jake was risking his fingers right now. Dwight took a deep breath and moved forward, this time walking with more trepidation, feeling a cold rock sit in his gut. It was too late to go home anyway. 

Dr. Carter probably hated him now. The idea of that made him want to cry. Dwight wiped at his already wet eyes. He focused on that distant light. It got brighter with every step. 

Even before he could get close enough to see the stark orange of the flames, he caught movement several feet ahead. Two normal humans, walking side by side. They were talking amicably. No weapons, no blood. Just normal people. 

Dwight froze up, staring at them like they were wild animals he needed to be wary of. One of them, a girl in a striped sweater, looked over, jumping a bit at his seemingly sudden appearance. The guy looked too, eyebrows shooting up. 

“Oh, uh, hello,” the guy waved awkwardly, still looking Dwight up and down. “Didn't think we’d get another new guy so soon.”

The girl elbowed him, muttering something about being rude. Dwight held up his hands when she tried to speak to him like a scared, cornered animal, thinking he was a soul snatched from whatever worlds lay outside this one. 

“I’m not a newcomer,” Dwight said, voice weak. “Um, Jake- he…” Dwight pointed helplessly over his shoulder. “He got me here. I’m Dwight.”

“Oh shit, you’re Dwight?” The guy smiled wide, suddenly and strangely excited. “You look nothing like the image I’ve had in my head. Oh man, you gotta meet the others!”

“You said Jake brought you here?” The girl looked knowingly past him, to the trees. “Is he distracting the Clown?”

Dwight nodded. “Is he a problem often?”

“He tries to catch anyone wanting to explore, the asshole,” the guy stuck out his tongue in a mocking gag. “Nothing better to do, I guess. We have to keep him busy almost anytime we wanna go out.”

“Jake can outrun him, right?” Dwight asked. At the shared look between the two strangers, he was instantly relieved. 

“Oh yeah, Jake has been here longer than any of us. He’s one of the first survivors. He hasn’t been stabbed in ages,” The girl said. “We’re still learning.”

“We’re getting a lot better,” the guy said with way too much confidence, and not the same kind that Jake shed. “This blight season is great, though! Don’t have to worry about knives or hooks. Hey… you okay? You look kinda pale.”

“Y-yeah, sorry, I just… are you sure Jake will be okay?” Dwight pressed. He wasn’t feeling as ill about Jake as he was about the now very real possibility of being a part of trials. These two talked so nonchalantly about hooks. 

“Come on, you should get your mind off him,” the guy gestured towards the light. “Jake’ll pop up before you know it. Let’s meet the others. They’re nice, and they’ll be excited to meet you. They’ll make you feel like the biggest celebrity in the realm.” 

The girl pursed her lips, sympathetic to Dwight’s obvious spike in anxiety. “I’ll shoo away anyone who gets too annoying,” she promised. “But like Steve said, they’re nice.”

  Steve and Nancy, as Dwight learned, lead him to the fire. The survivors swarmed him immediately, excited and way too overwhelming, But when Nancy raised her arms and told them to back off, that Dwight needed his space. Several survivors wandered off to do their own thing, while those that stayed spread out around the fire, letting Dwight take a seat on a log as the center of attention. 

While most of the survivors were very nice, Dwight did catch sight of a few who turned the other way upon realizing who he was. A few disgusted looks had been sent his way. 

Dwight was especially taken back by a white-haired man with bright blue tattoos, who had sent him a glare so hateful, Dwight wondered if he personally tortured the guy. But those survivors stayed away from the fire. He was beyond grateful for that, even if the attention was hard to sit under. 

He felt incredibly exposed under the lime-light, unused to the eager and curious stares. Several people had already asked him about his ‘thing’ with the Deathslinger. Dwight had turned beet-red and refused to answer. Several survivors cackled and made “oooh’ing noises, making that red turn a shade darker. Dwight hid under his shirt. 

“Stop teasing the poor guy,” Elodie spoke up. Dwight was grateful for her presence - a familiar face, and someone he liked to think of as a tentative friend. “He probably went through hell to get here, give him a break.”

“We’re just teasing,” Min laughed, another familiar face, but she didn’t hold back on her questions. She made it clear that she wanted to help Dwight go back to the saloon, for more poker, shots and “cowboys”. Dwight had buried his face in his hands. 

He’d barely spoken a word since he was ushered to sit, and the survivors had already teased him into a pile of mush. He couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. His face stayed red, a cruel cycle of knowing that he was beet-faced, fueling the embarrassment that kept his skin so flushed. Eventually, a hand patted his shoulder, and he looked up to see Jake. 

“Hey, sorry I left you with these animals,” Jake said, shooting a playful glare at Min in particular. “You okay?” 

Dwight nodded and smiled up at him in relief. Jake urged him to stand, flipping off the survivors as they complained they had more questions, or wanted to hear how Dwight escaped here. Jake told him to ignore them as they strolled through the tight-knit trees. The crowd was far behind them. Dwight had never seen the forests this thick before. 

“It gets so crowded with trees, you can’t go any farther,” Jake said, shrugging. “Basically serves as part of the wall. You can still trek quite a ways, as long as you don’t mind the squeeze.”

“Your friends are nice,” Dwight said. 

Jake snorted. “They’re annoying. But yeah, they’re nice. Most of them. Some will leave you on the hook if they think it’ll risk their skin.”

“Um, what are trials like?’ Dwight asked. 

“You don’t know?” he asked with genuine surprise. It made Dwight feel stupid. But when he scrambled to backtrack, Jake held up a hand. “No, it’s okay. I just assumed you knew. Trials are like a game. There’s four survivors chosen at random, and a killer. We’re thrown into a random area, and we have to repair these generators.”

“What do those do?”

“They power huge gates. If we can open them, we can escape the trial and come right back here.”

“And hooks?” Dwight asked, a lot more hesitantly.

An odd look pinched Jake’s expression. It passed quickly. “Hooks are all over the map. If the killer can put us on the ground, they have to put us on the hooks. Three times, and the Entity kills us.”

“Wait, like… put on the hooks?” Dwight questioned. 

Jake nodded, not without sympathy. “It sounds bad, but you get used to the feeling. You’re hooked through the shoulder and hang there.”

Dwight pulled a disgusted face, unable to help it. He couldn’t imagine hanging from his own body weight. “That sounds… horrible.”

“Yeah, it is. The first few hundred times.”

“But the killers can only hurt you enough to put you on these hooks? They can’t… torture you, right?” 

“No way. A few killers tried and the games always ended abruptly. You won’t be hurt beyond the game rules.”

It was a terrifying reality. A new job in this hellscape of a realm. But at the same time, it was also kind of exciting. Pain was a constant in his life. But the pain in the trails wouldn’t be so personal. There wouldn’t be a scalpel carving his flesh or straps holding him to a cold table. And from what Jake explained, the survivors could get good enough to avoid being harmed the entire game. 

Dwight wondered if he could get that good. If he could be as impressive as Jake. 

For the first time in a long time, Dwight looked forward to something. As scary as it was, if the saboteur was leading the way, the ex-lab assistant knew he would succeed. He and Jake discussed the trials for hours. And with this growing friendship, Dwight realized that he was grateful he’d had the strength to make his choice. 

He was happy he ran away from home. Away from that Doctor.

Chapter 8

“I want to talk to Caleb,” Dwight said. 

Jake gave him a dead-pan look, while Min gleefully nodded, knocking into Zarina who tried shoving her off. They were sitting in a small circle, sharing stories and eating the sour berries that Min had found. She’d immediately brought them to Dwight, who’d been sticking close to the saboteur. 

“Dude,” Jake warned. “I already told you, we should wait until the blight season ends. It’s safer that way. If you got killed…”

“I know, but I want to tell him I’m alright. And maybe play another game of poker,” Dwight shrugged. The thought of crossing back across the Clown’s territory made him nauseous, and he wasn’t stupid. “Besides, the first thing I wanna do is write a letter. And someone, if they’re already out exploring could maybe…” 

He blushed, unable to finish the sentence. It wasn’t like he and Caleb had anything going on (that’s what he told himself, even if he didn’t quite believe it). The thought of the old cowboy had butterflies cluttering Dwight’s insides. 

“I’ll take it!” Min volunteered, hand raised high. “I bet he’ll give us some more whiskey!” 

“Min will get it to him for sure,” Jake said. “She’s sneaky, but she’s also a great looper.” 

Dwight heard that term several times: looper. He wondered what it looked like in trials. Min had tried to explain the “tiles” and the best ways to run each shape, but he couldn’t keep up, at first thinking she was talking about kitchen tiles and not large walls with glass-less windows. The trials seemed so odd.

“Uh, you mean the best,” she said as she stood, hands on her hips. “Imma go find some paper for Dwight. I know for sure Adam came here with a little notebook.”

“Don’t be too much of a pest,” Jake teased. Min stuck out her tongue, saying something in Chinese that sounded like a teasing insult. Jake said something back in Korean, just as sharp, and they both laughed. 

“I have some pens I came here with,” Zarina got up too, wiping leaves from her pants. “I’ll go grab them. I wouldn’t mind going with you, Min. I need to stretch my legs.”

“Alright! Girls trip!” Min laughed, grabbing Zarina’s wrist and dragging her towards the fire. Zarina said something about her stuff being in the other direction, but they disappeared into the trees. 

“What are you gonna write?” Jake asked. 

Dwight stiffened, but shrugged. “Uh, I guess I just want to tell him what happened. Where I’m at and what's going on… I wish he wasn’t so far away.”

“You like him a lot, huh?” Jake pushed up from staring at the sky, rubbing his neck. 

“I guess so… I liked him a lot when I first met him, I mean, minus the rifle in my face,’ Dwight chuckled. “He turned really nice when he realized I wasn’t a survivor.” 

Jake smiled back. “Yeah, he hates us. I was shocked he didn’t shoot us back at the saloon. You really have a pull with the old man.”

Dwight waved him off with an embarrassed huff. “No… I mean, he seemed like he enjoyed my company.”

“Trust me, he enjoyed your company,” Jake rolled his eyes good naturedly, leaning forward to cup his chin in his palms, legs crossed like a gossiping teenager. “It was like he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

Dwight’s face heated up. “Really?”
Jake’s face softened. His voice turned more serious. “You seemed happy too. I’m really glad you decided to come with me, you know? You were really… you were hurt really badly,” the saboteur said slowly, choosing his words carefully as Dwight slowly cringed on himself. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“No, it’s okay. I forgot you saw me like that.” Dwight looked up at the dark sky, covered in dead leaves and dark branches. “But… when I think about that day, I don’t recall the injuries. I just think about how much fun I had.”

“Well, maybe we can get Caleb to visit the edge of the camp,” Jake suggested. “I won’t stop you from going, but I think it’d be safer. We’ll write a note, let him know you’re safe, then Min can take it to him without anyone seeing her. She only lets herself be seen during trials, when she wants a chase.” 

A bit of smugness crept into his usual modesty, as if recalling a particularly endearing memory of Min’s escapades. Dwight couldn’t help but smile at it. 

“You all make it sound like the trials are fun, ” Dwight joked. 

“Not fun, no,” Jake shrugged. “But after a while, you start to see it like a game. Pain doesn’t really mean much in the heat of the moment.”

Dwight was quiet for a moment. “That… I was kind of scared of that, the whole being hunted and killed thing… but I think I made the right choice.”

Jake’s also paused. “Do you mind if I ask you some things? It’s for my own curiosity, so tell me to screw off if you want.”

“Um, no, it’s okay. I’ve been asking them all day.”

“Alright. I wanted to know how you got to the Entity’s realm.”

Dwight froze for a moment then shrugged, uncertain. His memory was foggy at best, but the hallucination of the red pustula had triggered a few buried ones. 

“Pizza delivery,” Dwight said, smiling at the absurdity of the statement. “I delivered pizza, and one day, I just never made it to the right house… I can’t quite remember, but I might have brought that pizza with me.”

Jake quirked a brow. “Really? Huh. I forgot that pizza existed.” He sighed and it was almost dreamy. “I gave up on pizza and junk food back in the real world. I thought I’d be content foraging and hunting… but after a few lifetimes, it gets old.”

“You lived in the woods before this?” 

“Yeah.”

Dwight believed him. If not for the self-assured way he said it, then just the ease at which he looked compared to the crowd of the campfire. “Did you live in the woods full-time?” 

“Mmm-hmm. It was hard in the winter, but I learned. If I’d known that I’d be taken, I’d been happily living back in the city… er, well, I wouldn’t be happy, but I wouldn’t be here either.”

“I lived in the same crowded city my whole life,” Dwight said. “And I still got taken. I wonder why I wasn’t made a survivor.” 

“You just started working for the Doctor right away?” 

Dwight nodded. “You said that other survivors didn’t start out as survivors too, right?” 

“Yeah. Elodie wasn’t a survivor at first,” Jake said. 

“Really?” Dwight was surprised. She had never brought it up. “What did she do?” 

“She didn’t have a role like you. Felix was her childhood friend, and when he was taken by the Entity, she tried to hunt him down. She lost her memories on how she made it here, but she did, and she was kind of left to wander the realms on her own. When she found the campfire, the Entity made her stay.”

“Wow. She came here for her friend?” 

“Yeah. They’re really close. You’ll have to meet Felix sometime. He’s a bit uptight, but he’s got a good heart.”

Eventually, the topic veered off to more safe topics. Namely, crows and how you could make friends with them. Jake demonstrated by trying to call one down, but it only glared down at them, unmoving. Jake chuckled, giving Dwight a semi-embarrassed grin. 

“Sometimes it works. At least they don’t alert me to killers in trial. They tend to do that to the other survivors.”

“Maybe I’ll start talking to them too,” Dwight said, eyeing the huge, black creature. He couldn’t remember much about crows in his old world, but he knew they weren’t so large. 

“Hey,” Jake said, after several calm moments of quiet. Dwight glanced over. “We’ll get you and Caleb together soon. Promise.”

Dwight smiled brightly. His chest felt warm. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”

They went back to gazing at the canopy of the trees. 

---

Nancy and Steve had caught him hours later on the way back to the fire. Steve had been eager to ask him questions about killers, but upon Dwight’s obvious discomfort, Nancy shushed her friend and said that they just wanted to get to know him better. 

“Especially with you becoming a survivor and all,” she added. “We always go out of our way to get to know the newbies.”

That had made Dwight smile - that assurance that he was going to stay here among the others. Jake said he was going to see if Zarina and Min ever found that paper, before warning Steve to not be nosy. 

They didn’t get to chat for long. Commotion began to stir several meters from the campfire, deeper into the trees. A crowd had formed, heavy with murmurings of interest. It formed fast.  Dwight wanted to go over and peer on his tippy-toes out of curiosity, but he held back, listening to the women in front of him wonder “ what it could be” . What it was, was eating at him.

He almost felt it was rude to try and look, but Nancy grabbed his wrist, telling him not to be scared of the survivors.  Steve was already eagerly jumping at the back of the crowd, pushing his way in. Nancy was right behind, helping Dwight move his way to the front. Meg and Jake were there, standing in a semicircle with some other veteran survivors. Steve had run up beside them, his voice full of stunned awe. "Woah! What's that?" 

Oh Entity, Dwight thought, body going cold. What Dr. Carter wouldn’t give for this…

A whole cluster of pustula plants, a vibrant orange color, were growing up a tree. But the trunk was split at the bottom, the crack opening up the belly of the tree. Inside, more pustula grew. But these were red. And even further in their folds, blue peeked through. Below, the tiny purple pustula were growing at the tree roots, pushing from the grass to timidly peek their heads free. Dwight imagined cracking open the tree, and finding a whole host of colors beneath. 

He felt sick. 

Dwight took an instinctive step back, bumping into Nancy who took him by the shoulder and asked if he was okay. Dwight barely heard her. There was a tightness in his chest and a buzzing in his ear. It was hard to breathe. 

Someone - Nancy, it’s still Nancy asking him what’s wrong - turns him around. He’s walked through the crowd, and he’s not sure when he’s made to sit down, but it’s against a tree. The distant murmuring of the crowd is quieter than the rustle of the leaves. 

“Breath for me.” 

“I’m… I’m okay,” Dwight managed to say. “Sorry..”

“Don’t apologize,” Nancy said. “Just take some breaths.”

“I don’t… I just…” he didn’t know what to say. 

“It’s fine,” Nancy said. “I hate those flowers too - I have a few bad memories of them myself. I’ve never seen other colors besides orange, though. We can steer clear of that area from now on. They’ll die when the season is over.”

“There’s just… so many,” Dwight said, still awed by the rainbow of clusters. “I’ve never seen them in one place, and so many at once…” he looked up, the ever loyal assistant side of him always curious. “Do pustula grow here like that every season?” 

“Pustula?” Nancy tilted her head. 

“The, um, flowers, yeah. That’s what they’re called.”

“They grow in that area, but never like that.”

He wondered what was causing it, why the colors were mixing, and why that area was so ideal for growth. Disgust washed those questions away. He wasn’t an assistant anymore. He didn’t study the pustula or their effects. There was no reason to even acknowledge their existence. 

Their heads snapped up at the sudden uproar in commotion. Nancy cursed, asking Dwight to sit tight, and ran over to see what the sudden yells and shouts were about. A few people were shouting at someone. Another person was yelling at how stupid said someone was. Dwight found himself standing up and moving back into the crowd to see what happened. 

While most survivors were still, watching between various mixtures of apprehension and fear, Jake, Meg, Steve and a few other survivors were holding down a man who was trembling. His veins were glowing with the infection of a red pustula plant. 

Dwight immediately ran over, stopping behind Jake as he surveyed the situation. That was a bit hard to do, considering the varied effects of this red shade. 

“The convulsions will pass and he’ll return to consciousness in a few moments," Dwight said, stepping forward, his voice taking on the clinical tone it did when re-reading notes for the Doctor. 

“Huh? Back up, nurse, ” one of the men snapped at him. Dwight jumped in shock at the anger in his tone. Jake, holding Ace down by the shoulders, growled at him. 

“Vittorio, back off! I told you not to be an asshole!” 

“I don’t need this killer sympathizer’s fucking notes. It’s not helpful while our friend is convulsing!” 

“Shut up!” Nea shoved between the two of them, a quiet but bold presence in the camp. She’d been helping hold down Ace, but lost his arm before getting smacked in the face. She gestured at Dwight. “You know what you’re talking about?” 

“I… yes.” Dwight nodded. 

“How do we help him?” 

“Hold him still until the seizing stops-”
Vittorio snorts humorlessly, “Yeah, no shit.”

Nea glared. “What else?” She asked bitingly. 

“He’ll wake up. He might seem normal, but he’ll be hallucinating a past memory or something that’s important to him.” 

Dwight wasn’t sure if that was true. But he’d seen his old life, then a path to what he really wanted in this one. Kenneth had found his aspiration for killing creatively again after reverting to (seemingly) childhood memories. And the Doctor… Dwight wasn’t sure exactly. His personality definitely changed though. 

“You just have to keep him safely restrained. And then…” Dwight paused, not sure how to word the last part, or if it was worth bringing up. But Vittorio was glaring at him like he was keeping a terrible secret, and Nea was leaning forward expectantly. Ace had stopped moving under them. 

“He’ll probably act a little differently. But not in a bad way!” Dwight said quickly, not wanting to panic anyone. “It’s different for everyone, but if he has a goal, it might make him more motivated to do it.” 

“What the hell does that even mean?” Vittorio barked. 

“Stop yelling,” another survivor pushed from the crowd. “Ace? Hey, you okay, man?” 

Ace had sat up with a groan, and looked up between them, his most likely wide-eyes hidden behind the very present dark shades. He quirked a brow at Nea, but jumped when he saw Jake. 

His fist shot out, clocking the poor saboteur right across the jaw. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, while Ace jumped to his feet and bolted right over the top of Nea. Meg grabbed his arm, but was thrown off. 

“Not today, losers!” Ace cackled gleefully, sprinting like a deer through the trees. 

Meg and several other survivors ran after him, hoping to catch him before he broke a leg or crossed out of the territory. Vittorio was one of them, and Dwight held out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, immediately jogging over to a groaning Jake. Nea was knelt by him. 

“Oh shit, he got you good!” Steve was laughing. Jake flipped him the bird. 

“I’ve never seen him violent before,” Elodie said, walking up.  

“He will be fine,” Dwight reiterated. “I don’t know how long the episodes last, but he won’t explode or anything. He’ll just pass out.”

“Why is this different from regular blight flowers?” 

“The red ones are hallucinatory,” Dwight said. They purposefully didn’t look at the tree, now only a few feet away. Without the commotion of rushing bodies, the colors were garishly hard to ignore. “The colors have different effects.”

“Woah, really?” Nea stood, glancing at the bouquets but not getting close. “What do the blue ones do?” 

Dr. Carter grabbing his face, the pain in his jaw, the suffocation-

“Memory loss.”

Everyone blinked, having not expected the answer. A few curious glances were thrown the tree’s way. Dwight shook his head, already knowing the questions brewing on their minds. 

“The purple ones… are…” Dwight grimaced, recalling the flowers pooling from Julie’s eye socket. “They make you high, but you lose an eye.”

Nea’s eyes lit up, her whole stance crumpling with her excitement when Dwight said she’d lose an eye. “Oh man, I haven’t had a hit in lifetimes. I’m almost tempted.”

“I don’t think it’ll be worth it,” Dwight said. “It won’t kill you, but the…” he gestured to his eye. “The side-effects stay. Death resets pustula effects too, so I guess you’d keep your eye after a bad trial… Well, actually, the red pustula side-effects are the only permanent side effects. I think. I haven’t felt any changes-”

“ You were infected with it?” Elodie asked. 

“Oh - uh, I mean, yeah.” Dwight swallowed uncomfortably.

“What was it like? What’d you see?”

“Steve!” 

“Sorry! Sorry, I talk before I think! You ain’t gotta answer that, Dwight.”

He felt like he was hearing that alot. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad. It was scary kinda, but then I…” He thought about the embrace, and experiencing a foreign feeling of safety and comfort in Caleb’s arms. 

“I hallucinated finally leaving,” he said, too embarrassed to tell the truth. “And then Jake came along. If I hadn’t gone through the red pustula’s effects, I think I would have stayed. But I wasn’t as affected as… um, Kenneth had gone through the process, and Dr. Carter. Both of them experienced incredible changes in personality or motivation.”

“Kenneth?” 

Right. “I mean, the Clown.”

“Ew, Kenneth?! Why did you have to give him a name?” Elodie gagged. “He’s one of the worst killers. He’s nasty and cruel-” she cut herself off, “Sorry, sorry… I just hate him so much.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty horrible,” Nea agreed, looking warily at Dwight. “What kind of changes did he go through? Is it something we need to be worried about in trials?” 

Dwight thought of all the serums coming through Dr. Carter’s door - the countless hours spent making them more potent. Even though Kenneth had been kicked out, he was surely continuing his work at that manic pace. 

“Dr. Carter was helping him develop stronger serums,” he felt guilty admitting. “They got into an argument before we could get too much done, but his motivation to create and better his serums is all he seems to care about now. I think this’ll translate into his attitude towards trials.”

 An uncomfortable silence ticked by and Dwight looked down, feeling increasingly worse. 

“Well,” Elodie said. “Thank goodness we’re hearing it now. Imagine going into trial and getting one-upped by Kenneth. ” 

“Sorry you had to work with that monster,” Nea said. “But this is really valuable information. It’ll be fun to let the Clown think he’s got the upper hand, and then,” she grinned, pumping her fist in the air. “Bam! The look on his face will be hilarious.”

Jake patted Dwight’s shoulder when he let out a breath he’d been holding. It was a little bit of anchorage in his mess of anxious thoughts. 

“You have any other juicy gossip about killers?” Nea suddenly asked. 

The light tone made him smile, and Dwight lifted himself up. “I mean, I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. But if I remember anything helpful for trials, I’ll let you know.”

But that wasn’t what Nea was looking for. She leaned forward. “Have you met any other killers? Has any of them ever done anything embarrassing?” 

“Um…” He paused. “Not really… I didn’t meet too many killers. Unless they needed the Doctor’s help or tried to break in. Um, that was why the Legion were there,” he said to Jake. Nea nearly jumped on the saboteur. 

“Huh? What do you mean? You didn’t tell us the Legion were there! You never tell us the good stuff!”

“I forgot,” Jake raised his hands in casual defense. 

“Dr. Carter was experimenting on them,” Dwight said, feeling proud of his new friend.. “Jake freed them when I asked.”

“They just shoved me into the ground and ran off,” Jake shrugged. “They’re assholes. But they didn’t deserve to be locked up.”

“Oh gracious hero,” Nea teased. “Was it all of them?”

“Just the two biggest assholes.”

“Maybe they’ll remember you helped them out,” Elodie noted. 

Nea glanced back at the flowers. “Let’s get out of here, away from these things, and see if we can wrangle Ace.” 

“I bet he thinks he’s back in Las Vegas,” Elodie said. “Running from those sharks he was always on about.” She looked at Dwight as he dusted himself off. “He owed a lot of money before he was taken. He jokes that the Entity saved his life.”

 Elodie eventually ran off to help wrangle Ace. Jake, whose eye was starting to swell, wanted to go take a nap and sleep off the headache. Dwight was left alone with Nea, who asked if he wanted to learn more about looping. She claimed to be the best in camp, though that title was claimed by a few other survivors. 

Dwight spent the next few hours learning about tiles and killer powers and how best to outrun them. The more he learned, the more he felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of ways to be mutilated. And yet, it still seemed like a brighter future than the one at the Institute. 

---

Jake led the way through the woods, Dwight close behind. 

“We’re almost there. I can hang back while you two talk. Just holler if you need anything, okay?” Jake said. 

Dwight had been smiling since they started walking. “Okay. I’ll be fine, though.” 

“I know.” Jake stopped walking, pushing Dwight forward by the shoulder with a sly grin. “Go get em, champ.”

Dwight chuckled, shaking his head as he walked further ahead, where the grass grew lighter and the trees started to thin. He wasn’t sure what he even wanted to say, and his gut fluttered nervously. 

It was too late to let his anxious thoughts drive him off, because he saw Caleb standing several yards off, standing just at the edge of the survivor’s territory. He couldn’t get close enough to touch Dwight, but that meant no other killer could. The killer straightened up upon seeing him, and waved. Dwight waved back, jogging the rest of the way over. Dwight almost crossed the border to give him a hug, elated to see Caleb again, but was disappointed as he was stopped with a wave of his gray hand. 

“I don’t want to take chances, Dwight,” Caleb warned, pointing out the boundary line. “Not yet, when it’s just us two.”

“Oh, okay,” Dwight nodded, taking a step back. He failed to hide the slight hurt in his tone, and Caleb awkwardly shook his head. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be next ta ‘ya, trust me,” Caleb soothed. “But I ain’t takin’ risks right now. I got that note of yours and well, I wanted to see ya too. And not just fer pleasure. There’s some commotion goin’ on I thought I should warn ya of.” 

“Warn? Of what?” 

“The Doctor is lookin’ fer ya. Offered a bounty.” Dwight’s heart went cold. Caleb softened his voice. “Don’t worry. He ain’t got a clue where ya are, and I intend to keep it that way. But Kenneth will be an issue, I don’t want him to see me crossing his territory so often and wonderin’ what for.”

“A- a bounty!?” Dwight squeaked. 

All manner of nightmare punishments ran through his head. Dr. Carter had a lot of time to sit in his own head. Submerged in the red pustula effects, Dwight feared what it was doing to the Doctor’s mind. Dwight never asked to be a part of his life. He tightened his jaw, refusing to cry in front of the killer. 

Caleb paused and then reached out, hand backtracking when he realized he couldn’t cross the boundary. Dwight took the next few steps, and without complaint, Caleb let him fall into his arms. He held him for a few quiet moments, then gently, so painfully gently, urged him back over the line. 

“I’m sorry, Dwight. I am. But I ain’t losing ya now that yer here,” Caleb said. “Dr. Carter ain’t got nothin’ worth a bounty, but he sounds desperate. None of the other killers seem to believe his worth, but some will definitely want a reward regardless. You shouldn't leave the safety here.”

Guilt. Why was he feeling guilt? 

“Dwight? You alright?” 

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t think he’d react that strongly.” Dr. Carter was mad, yes. But he composed and didn’t ask for help. He thought himself above the lowly assistance of the other killers. “It’s kind of alarming.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. Even if he got close to ya, he’d have to deal with me.”

Dwight blushed when a grey hand came up to wipe a bit of dirt off his cheek. Dwight had stepped back over the line again, but Caleb didn’t push him back. Dwight didn’t even notice he stepped forward. 

“I know. I trust you,” he said, reaching up to place his own hand over Caleb’s. The killer paused in mild surprise, before a flashed a crooked grin, letting his thumb rub small circles on his cheek. Dwight liked how rough his skin was, yet how gently he touched.  

“You can’t stay longer?” Dwight asked hopefully, already knowing the answer. 

“Afraid not,” Caleb said. “But that don’t mean I can’t still visit. I talked to Carmina on the way here, and to put it plainly, we have permission to host a game night right here on the border. So long as Carmina is invited. At least, I think that’s what she said. Poor woman can only speak crow. I’m sure I made her swear she won’t kill anyone. And with two killers nearby and a group a’ perceptive survivors, I think you’ll be safe enough.”

Dwight lit up, nearly bouncing on his toes. “You mean, like a party?”

“I reckon we’re far enough away from any prying ears to be loud. I’ll bring cards and booze. Ask around for any music-types. I think the southern gal you have in there is a musician, right?”

“Kate?” Dwight asked. “Okay, sure! She’ll love the chance to play for the crowd.” 

Kate had brought out her guitar several times already, and the camp would either listen in quiet to her somber strums, or burst into a chorus of songs behind a too up-beat tune. If Caleb was getting the survivors drunk, the songs were sure to be over the top and cheerful. It’d be like a real party. Dwight couldn’t recall ever going to a party, not even in his past life. 

“Never thought I’d be throwin’ a shindig with the survivors,” Caleb chuckled. 

Dwight could already see the excitement that Min and Elodie would share upon learning about the party. He paused, wondering if some survivors might make a big deal out of it. Vittorio seemed the type to argue against it. But then again, Elodie was the type to throw the middle finger and do what she wanted. 

“Somethin’ on the mind?” 

“It’s nothing,” Dwight shook the thoughts away. “I’m just really happy to see you.”

“Me too.” 

Dwight took a moment of courage to scoot closer. Caleb watched, raising a brow. Dwight smirked and leaned in. Maybe it was the red pustula still in his veins. Maybe it was just because he felt so relaxed around this killer. Either way, Dwight leaned up against Caleb. The cowboy’s eye went wide at the bold move as Dwight pressed a kiss to his cheek for the third time, then another to his dry, still lips. It was quick, stolen by surprise and with great satisfaction. 

“Was that okay?” Dwight asked. 

Caleb wrapped a long arm around him, pulling him in closer. “I’d say it’s more than okay,” he said, and kissed Dwight again. It was longer, and Dwight closed his eyes as he sunk against the killer. 

When they pulled away, Dwight put his head on Caleb’s chest. He didn’t want to move from this spot, and thankfully, Caleb let him stay there. He mentally reminded himself to thank Jake for helping him out of the Institute. Standing here, listening to the off-rhythm heartbeat of Caleb, made everything feel worthwhile. 

A tiny part of him was scared of losing this. He smothered it, and let himself enjoy the moment. He was making a new home for himself. A home far away from the Doctor, and with a new killer instead. 

Chapter 9

As expected, upon hearing of a party, Min erupted into squeals of giddy excitement. She got more excited with everything Dwight listed; two killers to keep them safe, lots of booze, music, and a chance to let loose and have fun. 

Elodie was especially interested in meeting Carmina - the Artist. Jake just smiled slyly, saying that Dwight would have to have a dance with his cowboy. Dwight blushed, hid his face, and smiled secretly behind his hands. 

Jake, after leaving to tell some specific survivors about the gathering, had been accosted by Vittorio and his friends. 

They were upset, warning Jake that he was attracting attention with their noise and that buddying up with killers was dangerous. Killers always have bad intentions. Jake had told them to mind their business, but he was stiff and obviously bothered. Dwight had tried to ask about it a few times, noticing the tension that had grown since he’d been here. But Jake merely shrugged him off. 

“Not every survivor will get along. Not in the past, the future or any present. Don’t let it bother you, okay? They aren’t worth the effort.”

Dwight looked up to Jake - to his calm, effortless way he could turn the other cheek and continue living his life - as much of a life as the Entity allowed, that is. And so the ex-assistant tried all he could to follow in that mindset. He wouldn’t let others put a dampener on what was supposed to be simple fun. 

And as the party got closer, so did the ease at which Dwight relaxed. 

Min had darted ahead of the group. She’d been talking non-stop about this day, and practically cartwheeled through the trees to the survivor border. Dwight meandered a bit behind, enjoying Jake’s more quiet company as the rest of the group chatted amicably, an undertone of excitement buzzing softly in every breath. 

A few survivors had run ahead to help Caleb set up. They were there with the killer, setting up bottles and shot glasses on the available logs. More had been rolled over to provide seating. 

Elodie was talking to Caleb. As soon as Dwight stepped into the clearing, the cowboy and survivor looked up. Elodie grinned wide, said something to Caleb and patted his arm as she strolled passed to Felix. The blonde man looked a lot more nervous around Caleb, but still glanced over to Dwight with a small smile that was meant to be welcoming. Dwight waved at them as he and Caleb met in the middle of the clearing. 

Caleb wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. These ones were cleaner, made of dark fabric and fitted specifically to his form. The jacket was long, accented with gold that ran down his sides. A gold chain hung from his breast pocket. His usual dusty hat sat on his head, and Dwight found that utterly charming. 

“You look really nice,” Dwight greeted shyly. 

Caleb chuckled, taking his hand to rub a rough thumb across his knuckles. 

“Why thank ya. I thought I’d tidy up a bit.”

Dwight smiled slyly, titling his chin up. “For anyone in particular?” he teased. 

“There’s someone here I have my eye on,” Caleb grinned back. 

“Just kiss already!” Min’s voice rang out, startling Dwight nearly off his feet. 

Caleb laughed, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. Min bounded over with two bottles of whiskey in each hand. She beamed, excitement rolling off her in waves. Dwight didn’t bother moving from the cowboy’s side, warmth blooming in his chest as Caleb noticed and tucked him closer.  

“Looks like the rats are eager. As always,” Caleb joked. “I brought nearly my whole supply, so don’t expect anymore booze until blight season ends. Entity ain’t restockin’ till it’s back up and at em’.” 

“Then I guess we better make tonight count!” Min laughed. “By the way, Kate is looking for ya,” she said, pointing up at Caleb. “She’s, like, really excited to play with someone else.” 

“You play an instrument?” Dwight looked up curiously. 

Caleb rubbed the back of his head, a little sheepish as he withdrew a small metal rectangle from his pocket. It was a black harmonica with gold initialing on the side. Dwight lit up upon seeing it. He reached up, grabbing Caleb’s arm happily. 

“Are you going to play for the party?”

“Hehe, I might. It ain’t nothin’ special though…”

“I’d love to hear you play!” Dwight urged. 

“I’m a bit rusty, so don’t pass too harsh a’jugment,” he joked, but the following chuckle was obviously self-conscious. 

“Everything I’ve seen you make has been beautiful. This won’t be any different,” Dwight said, thinking back on his shed full of belt buckles and sculpted cufflinks, each one made with creative skill that Dwight could never hope to possess. He was a bit startled by the way Caleb suddenly looked down at him, a brief moment of intensity that made his heart skip a beat. Caleb leaned down, stealing a soft kiss from his lips. 

“Save a dance for me later?” Caleb asked. 

Dwight smiled. “I’d love that.” 

Caleb squeezed his shoulder, then went to Kate, sitting across the clearing. She was tuning her guitar and, upon seeing the cowboy, waved him over. Min, meanwhile, was staring at Dwight with a poorly hidden, shit-eating grin. He rolled his eyes at her, and she let out a loud cackle. 

“You two are so cute!” She teased. “I think I have cavities from how sweet that was.” 

“Oh shut up,” Dwight said, no true anger in his tone. 

“You’re right. Less talking, more shots!” She cheered, shoving one of the bottles into his arms. “Let’s get some poured out and start a drinking game! This is gonna be so fun!” 

Dwight helped her set up the dirty, cracked glasses they had. His ears perked up at the gentle strum that had begun, and turned to see Kate and Caleb seemingly deciding on what kind of songs to play. 

A few more survivors - Steve and Nancy - arrived through the trees beside them. Steve immediately began to request songs that Caleb would have no hope of knowing. Dwight chuckled and went back to helping Min, a strange contentment settling in his bones. He never thought he could feel so peaceful. 

And then his heart nearly stopped when he happened to glance up and see black eyes watching him silently. Carmina - the killer called The Artist - was standing in the treeline. She was tall, with an elongated neck and black limbs made of the Entity’s own flesh. 

Dwight’s face was white at the shock of seeing her so suddenly. Min asked what was wrong. Then, upon seeing Carmina, stood up with a happy exclamation. 

“Hi! I’m Feng Min, and this is Dwight! Don’t be shy! Any friend of Caleb is a friend of ours!” Min had her arms opened wide. Carmina just stared, her black eyes narrowing slightly as they flickered to the ground. She took a step into the clearing. 

“You’re Carmina, right? I don’t know if you drink, but we’re getting the shots ready!”

Carmina’s gaze darted to the side. Her arms, as long as they were, awkwardly crossed over her chest, her stance screaming awkwardness and uncertainty. 

“We don’t bite! Promise!” Min continued. 

Carmina finally stepped fully into the clearing, her taloned feet dipping gracefully through the trees like a raptor. Dwight knew she wasn’t here to cause trouble, but her entire being screamed predator, and it put him on edge. But he didn’t want to be rude, so he offered a small wave. 

Carmina’s pitch eyes merely looked him up and down, before she wordlessly (with the silence of a ghost) wandered over to Caleb. Even from over here, Dwight noticed how Carmina kept to his side, putting him between her and the ever-friendly Kate. 

“Didn’t think she was so introverted,” Min shrugged. “Maybe she’ll loosen up after a few shots.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type to drink,” Dwight said. 

“You might be right.” 

Dwight was right. Carmina spent the whole night on a log, watching Kate play her guitar. The whimsical tone of Caleb’s harmonica rose and fell in between her up-beat notes. The rest of the survivors arrived soon after. Greeted to the welcoming sounds of joy, a crowd of dancers quickly grew. Kate danced with them, her stage presence glowing even in the dark forest.

“Come on, let’s dance!” Min offered him a shot. 

She already downed one herself, and raised another to clink against his. Dwight grimaced as it went down, shaking his head as if to shake off the sour taste. Then Min was grabbing his hand, tugging him among the others. He had no dance skills himself, so he mostly jumped around and bobbed with the flow of the group, laughing alongside Min the more booze they shared. 

At one point, Elodie grabbed his wrist for a drunken dance, spinning him around until his eyes were spinning. She accidentally let go, and he fell over the top of Jake, the two laughing too hard to get up. Min tried to pull them up but only fell over too, shoving Jake over when he was nearly back on his feet. 

Elodie refused to help, holding her sides as she shook with laughter. Dwight wasn’t sure he’d ever laughed so much in his life. His stomach hurt by the time he’d been tugged back to his feet, and he told Min he needed a moment to sit. 

He didn’t want to be too tired for the dance that Caleb promised. But the cowboy looked to be having fun, creating music with a fellow artist. He was still stiff, but slowly loosening up. Dwight didn’t want to interrupt him. Not yet, anyway. 

So he found a log to catch his breath on. He smiled, kicking his legs as he watched the party fall into full swing. 

Kate was on her feet, tapping her toes and swinging her hips, singing as she encouraged Caleb up off the log. He waved her off at first, harmonica faltering, before rolling his eyes and standing, kicking one stiff leg to the beat. Dwight wished he had a camera to take a picture. Caleb was too cute when he was shy. 

Several survivors were falling over, singing over the top of eachother. Empty bottles were starting to pile up. Dwight was feeling heavily buzzed himself, despite having stopped drinking an hour ago. 

Something tapped his shoulder. Dwight, still smiling, wiped at the feeling, his hazy mind hardly registering it as anything but a tickle. Another tap, this time settling at the base of his spine. It was sharp. Dwight turned, but a gloved hand jerked around his neck and he was jerked off the log, and into the brush. Above the noise and commotion, no one noticed. 

Dwight tried to scream. His voice was choked and he couldn’t breathe. A body wrestled him away from the border that was just two feet away. Dwight tried to throw his body at it. The figure added more pressure to his throat. Dwight wheezed, vision going black for several moments. When he came to, someone had him against a tree, a knife pressed into his chest. 

“Keep moving, or I start stabbing,” came the mean voice. Dwight saw a white mask and black robes. This was a killer Dwight had no previous interactions with. The other survivors complained about his nonchalant cruelty before. The Ghostface pushed the tip of the knife into his skin. 

“Scream, and your tongue comes out,” the killer shoved him forward. 

Dwight almost started to scream, but the arm pressed back into his neck, the knife against his lower back as Ghostface started to march him deeper into the woods, away from the survivors’ boundary. If Dwight hadn’t been stumbling in front of him, the killer would be all but silent. 

The sudden gravity of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks. What was he doing? Being silent? Letting someone push him around and take what was finally feeling like happiness? The sounds of the party grew dimmer.

He didn’t care if he got stabbed. He didn’t want to leave his friends or Caleb. And more horrifying, Dr. Carter was going to mutilate him for escaping. That terror overrode any fear of immediate harm. 

“Fuck off!” Dwight threw his elbow back, gasping as the knife ran over his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, but it was painful and wet, the feeling sending a raw panic through his system. “Help! Someone help!” 

“Son of a bitch!” Ghostface punched him across the face. His glasses flew before he hit the ground. The killer kicked him hard, then grabbed him by the back of his neck. The music had stopped. Dwight screamed for help again. He was punched right across the jaw. He punched back, kicking and clawing and screaming through the pain. 

And then the weight was thrown off. Ghostface grunted, just after the heavy sound of a body hitting something solid. Someone’s hands ran over his shoulders and face, fretting over him. Dwight blinked, looking past a terrified Kate and Jake, seeing the Deathslinger and a few survivors surrounding a black-cloaked figure. 

The Ghostface was kicking and barking curses at them. There was a stick stabbed through his shoulder. Adam was standing slightly in front of Caleb, saying something, as if keeping him from finishing the job. But then Ghostface laughed and said something. Caleb raised his rifle with a growl and Dwight looked away, vision blurring as his headache crescendoed in pain against the sharp bang! of that shot. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to move,” Jake was saying. 

“Oh my god,” Elodie’s voice floated in the background. “Dwight?”

“He’s fine, he’ll stay alive,” someone said. 

“What happens if he dies? He’ll come back to the campfire, right?’

Dwight was just conscious enough to dread the following silence. He reached out a hand, grabbing Jake’s and (through gritted teeth) asked to go back to the fire, to the safety of the light. His voice was wounded and raspy, but it worked. Arms helped him up. He gasped, grabbing at his side where wetness streamed through his shirt. 

Jake immediately had him lay back down, tearing a strip off his own shirt to wrap the wound. Dwight had three stab wounds. One on his side and two on his arm. The bloody appendage was wrapped and slung. The cut on his throat felt much worse than it was, thank the Entity. 

Caleb tried to apologize. Dwight had just reached out with his good arm. Jake let him, and Dwight leaned against the killer, letting himself be led back to the border. Caleb kissed the top of his head, muttering another apology. Dwight promised him that it was okay. 

“As long as you don’t forget to keep visiting,” Dwight said. “That’s the only reason I’d be upset with you.”

Caleb looked grim but nodded. “I won’t. So long as you stay over the border. No more chances.” 

Dwight forced a smile through the pain, because really, this outcome was better than the alternative. He was lucky he found his voice before Ghostface took him too far. He reached up, letting relief guide him. He grabbed Caleb by the coat, and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. 

“I’ll be fine,” Dwight promised. 

Jake eased his arm back over his shoulder, the saboteur gingerly helping Dwight back to camp. From behind, he heard Caleb tell the still lingering survivors to keep the rest of the booze that wasn’t emptied. Even if his whole body hurt, Dwight still felt warmth at hearing the cheers. The survivors were sure to finish the bottles within the hour. 

Dwight closed his eyes as he walked. He was still safe. He was at the camp. And next time, he wouldn't hesitate to fight back. 

---

The stab wounds were painful, but bearable. Dwight had endured worse, and to be honest, he felt prideful at how much the survivors praised his pain threshold. He was even told that he’d make a great survivor because of it. 

But more than anything, the wounds weren’t fatal. That meant no death. No reset. No returning to the Institute. Caleb had hung around the border, patrolling the area with his wicked-looking rifle for any more killers. Dwight had walked to the border a few times to say hi. 

They’d share a kiss and a few words, before Caleb would get paranoid and tell him to go back. The meetings were always so brief, that Dwight felt more disappointed each time he left. Even if Caleb had every reason to be uneasy. 

It wasn’t just Ghostface who was looking for Dwight. And with Caleb coming to Dwight’s rescue, word would spread fast of the Deathslinger’s involvement. Caleb said he wasn’t going to return to his realm, as he expected to be ambushed, or beaten, for information. Carmina had welcomed him to stay in her realm, her crows keeping a lookout and alerting the killers to any threats before they could even enter Carmina’s neck of the woods. 

While Caleb always expressed worry about someone sneaking passed or being too strong to deal with, Dwight felt he was plenty safe with their surveillance. 

“Don’t worry too much,” Dwight had said. “You’re tougher than any other killer out there.” 

“Not as tough as you,” Caleb said back, making Dwight blush. “But anyone foolish enough to sniff around’ll get told off real quick with this,” he said, nudging his gun.

That had been one of their last conversations. Dwight itched to go back. He knew he should be patient. He hated being patient. 

To distract himself, Dwight spent most of his time with Elodie or Jake. He found them easy to talk to. Several survivors gave him a wide berth, and the few times he saw Vittorio and his friends, he’d been given a nasty glare. But beyond that, Dwight liked camp. The constant crowd was much more comforting than the cold, empty halls of the Institute. 

Even better, the blight season wasn’t even halfway over. Dwight knew he had quite a bit of time to settle in before (hopefully) he started playing in trials. Then he’d be a true survivor. Then he wouldn’t be able to leave the camp, even through death. He’d belong to no-one but the Entity. 

---

Dwight looked away, still feeling uneasy about the wilted, dead flowers and vines hanging from under a grinning Ace’s sunglass lens. He and the others seemed perfectly content with sporting the new foliage until their inevitable deaths in a trial. And despite the pustulas now under supervision 24/7, Dwight suspected that that particular group were crafty enough to sneak more if they wanted. 

But in this hell, who was Dwight to judge? He was falling for a killer who, in a very likely future, would be forced to hook him. Hurt him. Shoot him. Dwight and him had talked about it once or twice, but it was Caleb who seemed the most uncomfortable. Dwight tried to reassure him that he wouldn’t care. It was the will of the Entity afterall. And Dwight didn’t want to risk him playing favorites. 

He thought back on his conversation with Caleb, on the fear they both shared of having a trial together. Caleb was trying to convince Dwight that the Entity would be okay with him being lenient on his favorite survivor. 

“I’m sure it won’t mind me missing a shot or two,” Caleb drawled. 

“No! You have to play fair for everyone! Those are the rules.”

“We’ll worry about it when we cross that bridge,” Caleb settled for saying. 

Dwight went over that conversation several times in his head. He didn’t want Caleb to be punished, but being shot also sounded horrible. Being alone with such thoughts was probably a bad idea, but he didn’t want to go right back to the fire.  It was busy, and he had gotten a bit overwhelmed by all the noise. He thought the quiet might help. It was… kind of helping, but not really. 

Lost in his head, he didn’t notice the other survivor until he accidentally bumped into them. Both apologized immediately, Dwight stumbling back from the only slightly familiar form of Jill. She was some kind of special forces, according to the other survivors. She came here with a few others, all a part of the same lifetime, and all looking equally bad-ass. 

Apparently, they survived and defeated monsters in the real world. He hadn’t met them yet and only seen them in passing. Jill especially had always given him a wide berth. Once she recognized him, though, she seemed pissed, shooting him a glare to match the vitriol in Vittorio’s. Come to think of it, Dwight was sure he’d seen her hanging around him often. 

“Um, sorry,” he muttered lamely. 

“Just watch it,” she said, her voice less intense than her glare, but just as off-putting. She made to walk past him, and Dwight stood frozen in place, until she disappeared in the brush. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and shakily tried to find his way back to the fire. The good mood he’d carried was quickly deflated. 

As wonderful as the majority of the survivors were, the few who saw him as a threat were enough to make Dwight feel painfully out of place - an outcast. Luckily, he didn’t pass anyone else along the way, not until he saw the flickering orange through the trees and heard the growing murmur of talking. 

Min saw him first, looking up with a wide smile as she laughed over something another survivor said. She waved him over. Dwight nervously wrung his hands together as he headed over. But the anxiousness slowly faded, draining with each head that turned to smile and greet him - Jake, Nea, Elodie, Min. They were happy to have him, scooting over to join him into their fold and easily tug him into their conversation. 

The fire was as warm as the voices, and Dwight allowed himself to relax. There was a reason he came here, he thought, fondly listening to Min laughing over her last trial. As cruel as this frigid realm could be, he had found warmth, and he didn’t want to ever let it go. 

…

Time passed. 

Not enough to feel familiar with the survivor’s forest, but enough to not feel so out of place anymore. 

He hadn’t seen Caleb in a long time, keeping away from the boundary for the sake of his own safety. At least, it felt like it’d been a long time. It was hard to gauge time in the woods, where the only light was the constant flicker of the campfire. 

Regardless, Dwight had never really missed someone before. Not like this. The terror of almost being kidnapped had dimmed quickly, and he found himself itching to go back to the border. He tried to waste time and distract himself by talking with his new friends and taking naps. 

That was when Kate found him dozing in the roots of a large tree. The thin blankets he was given were full of holes and scratchy, but it kept his bare arms from freezing. Dwight woke up to the grinning woman shaking his shoulder, asking him to follow her.

“I have a little surprise for ya,” she said, voice light with excitement. 

The fire was only several feet away, a line of trees giving Dwight some privacy for his nap, yet close enough to the safety of voices - the safety of those he’d begun to see as his friends. He smiled up at Kate, grabbing for his glasses that were tucked neatly into his shirt’s breast pockets and put them on.

“What kind of surprise?” He asked, dusting himself off the grass. 

“Wouldn’t be one if I told ya, now would it?” She giggled, taking him by the wrist. 

Rather than the fire, she led him away from its heat, into the darker and colder parts of the forest. Dwight shivered but he trusted Kate enough not to worry as they drew closer to the border. The direction was familiar. Butterflies began to kick up and dance around his insides. He had a good idea of where - or to who - Kate was taking him. 

He bit his lip and jogged to keep up with her pace, her bare legs seemingly unbothered by the long scratches left behind as she trudged through vines and bushes. Before long, the trees thinned out, and Kate pointed out the border. Her guitar was propped up on a tree, waiting patiently. Dwight raised a brow as she ran over to it, acting (poorly) like she had forgotten it out here. 

“Would ya look at that? Can’t believe I left my baby out here all alone!” She snatched it up, cradling the light wood like a baby, her callused fingers melodically dancing over the strings. 

“You mind?” She asked, leisurely walking around Dwight, turning her guitar. The notes were light, the notes dancing then fading like embers from a fire. “I’m gonna tune this up, just…” she smiled and winked. “Wait here for me?”

“Uh sure. I mean, I don’t mind,” Dwight said. He was smiling too, finding Kate's behavior both amusing and curious. “Is there a reason you’re leaving me all alone at the border, or..?”

“Nope,” she practically sang the word, then gracefully turned to walk back into the trees. Her periodic notes were muffled by the crowding trunks. 

It was silent then, but only for a few minutes. There was rustling on the other side of the border. Dwight jumped out of instinct, legs tense before his chest lightened considerably at the familiar face of Caleb. The cowboy paused, a twinge on his crooked lips as he looked down at his favorite survivor. There was a helping of worry there too. 

“Dwight, I’m glad ta see ya,” he couldn’t move any farther because of the border, hand reaching out instinctively then pausing. Dwight took a step forward, reaching up to grab his hand and rub a thumb along his wrist. He enjoyed how easy it was to initiate contact now. 

“But you shouldn’t be so close to the border. Not until-“

“The Blight season is done,” Dwight finished, still smiling. Caleb didn’t push him back, instead looking down at where the survivor ran circles over the irregular beat of his veins. “I know. But I didn’t even know I was coming to see you. Kate, she uh, brought me here.”

Caleb snickered. “Ah. I see, she asked me here too, the sneaky bugger.”

Then from somewhere in the trees, there was music. A soft strumming that sang along the gentle hum of Kate’s voice. It wasn’t one of her upbeat, dancing tunes or a sad melancholy beat. It was some kind of love song, and Dwight’s face went beet red as he picked up on the sappy lyrics she sang. Caleb only laughed, taking Dwight’s now still hand and turning it over, his own gray palm offered upward. 

“We never did get that dance, did we?” Caleb asked. Dwight’s smile came back, but his cheeks remained flushed, even as he nodded shyly and guided his fingers in between Caleb’s long ones.  

It was awkward and stifling. Caleb had two left feet and Dwight didn’t know where to put his hands. Eventually, a warm palm settled at the base of his spine, and Dwight relaxed, copying the motion and looking up. Suddenly, it didn’t feel all that awkward. 

The adoration in the killer's cloudy eyes made his breath hitch. He didn’t think anyone could ever look at him like that and it made a wall of emotion crumble over his head. He bit his lip hard, before reaching up on his tippy toes. Caleb leaned down to meet him, and the brush of his rough lips against his own made his knees weak. It was soft and gentle as the hands around his waist. 

When they parted, Dwight let his head fall to Caleb’s chest, cheek pressed against the leather, and began to sway easily to the music. 

They didn’t say anything, just holding each other as Kate’s voice floated above. Dwight closed his eyes and never wanted this to end. 

But it had to. The guitar eased into silence. Caleb held him a little longer, before Kate's gentle boot-steps paused just outside of their little clearing. Dwight shot her an appreciative glance before thanking Caleb for the dance. 

“It was nice.”

“Glad I got to see ya,” Caleb agreed. He gently eased Dwight back over the border and a pang struck his heart. Dwight let himself be edged back into safety, but not before Caleb leaned down to kiss his head, in a way that made Dwight look down, his butterflies going wild at the tentative touch. Caleb looked up at Kate.

“Make sure he gets back safe for me.”

Kate, smile nearly splitting her face in half, waltzed up to swing an arm over Dwight’s shoulder. “I will! Come on, lover boy,” she teased her fellow survivor. At his slight hesitance, she merely chuckled. “Hey. When the season is over, you two can dance as long as ya like. I’ll play for ya, I promise.”

Dwight buried his face in his hands, but the idea was internally pleasing. Being able to go see Caleb anytime he wanted, surrounded by new friends, and with the freedom to take a nap on his own time?? Not for the first time since leaving Dr. Carter, did Dwight feel intense relief at no longer being an assistant. 

“Thank you, Kate. For that. I needed it, to get through the rest of this season.”

She beamed happily. “I figured! I know it’s a bit dangerous but… sometimes things are worth a bit of risk.” 

When Kate led a blushing, smiling Dwight back to the fire, their usual group was there, sitting in a circle near the edge of the clearing. Min noticed Dwight’s red cheeks and leapt up, asking where they had been. Elodie and Jake were there too. Kate strummed her guitar, a smug grin on her face. 

“Oh nowhere special. Just thought Dwight would enjoy a surprise date.”

“Oh, that’s so cute!” Min laughed. “I bet Caleb missed his little survivor too!” She teased. She was probably Dwight’s biggest supporter when it came to dating a killer. As long as Dwight kept messing up the usual routine of this realm, Min wanted to know about it. 

Dwight scratched the back of his head. “It was… nice. Kate just set up a little meeting.”

“We’ll come on,” Elodie goaded. “Give us the details! You two officially a thing yet?”

Dwight coughed, choking on his own spit. Kate gave him a pat on the back as he found his words. “I don’t- I mean, I’m not sure that’s- I don’t-“ 

Luckily, Jake saved him from his own spluttering. “Stop teasing the poor man.” He gave Dwight a reassuring look. “We’re here for eternity. It’s more than okay to go at your own pace.”

“Oh please! Why waste time? You see the way Caleb looks at him?” Min pressed. “He’s got it down bad for our little Dwight!”

“Agh,” Dwight made a flustered noise. “He doesn’t like me that much-“ Nearly everyone immensely scoffed and/or rolled their eyes. It made that warm blossom on Dwight’s chest open up. 

“Yeah, and Min is humble,” Elodie joked. 

He tried to hide a smile but it pulled at his lips as he thought about their impromptu date. The gentle kisses and the warm arms that had no business being as comfortable as they did when wrapped around his waist. Dwight nodded.

“Yeah, I like him a lot. He just… makes me happy.”

“Then it’s worth chasing after,” Elodie said and Dwight couldn’t help but nod along, that statement ringing with exciting truth. 

Dwight glanced up, and caught sight of pale eyes filled with both anger and, oddly enough, hurt. Vittorio was behind a tree, looking like he had been passing by before pausing to eavesdrop. He and Dwight made eye contact before that scowl deepened and he pushed away, into the brush before anyone else saw him. 

Dwight pretended not to notice, despite the slight shakiness that settled in his core. He wondered how long Vittorio had been listening, but as his friends congratulated him and filled the space with laughs and teasing, he found he didn’t really care. 

Vittorio and the few others could be assholes all they wanted. Dwight had more important people in his new life to care about. He had Caleb. He had his friends. He didn’t have to run from anyone. Yet if it came down to it, he knew he wouldn't have to fight alone. 

Chapter 10

Things had been going great. Too great. 

Dwight should have taken notice. 

His luck in the realm was thin and unkempt, and bad things come about one way or another. He had thought he was safe in the survivor boundaries and had wanted a break from the rambunctiousness of the campfire crowd. 

Living in the institute had taught him to be at peace with being alone. And as much as he loved his new friends, he needed breaks. Alone time to shift through his ever frantic thoughts (that had become somewhat less frantic in this new home). Jake understood more than anyone and merely nodded at him when Dwight had asked to slip away from the fire. 

He thought he was alone. 

He heard the snap of a branch and turned, finding Vittorio walking towards him. The survivor paused, as if not expecting to be seen, his face pinching into an odd look that Dwight couldn’t quite place. When he looked back up, it was with that usual and familiar scowl. Dwight nervously backed up as Vittorio finished the last few paces between them, crossing his arms. He looked the ex-lab assistant up and down. 

“I need to talk.”

“Oh… okay,” Dwight had expected an insult of some kind. Caught off guard, he could only nod hesitantly. “What did you need?” 

“It’s about…” Vittorio paused, his eyes flashing down, then up again. That same weird look crossed his face, and Dwight faintly recognized it as indecision. The same kind of way Dwight felt after the red pustula flower, when he had a big choice before him - one that felt too monumental to choose correctly. A stone fell in Dwight’s gut at the sight. 

“Did you need help?” Dwight asked, taking another subtle step backwards. He didn’t want to run away and cause a scene. Not on a gut feeling. Vittorio might be a jerk, but they were in hell. Dwight could give him grace. That hard look overcame Vittorio’s face again, and he looked up with a tense line in his jaw. 

“You know alot about the flowers.”

“The pustula?” Dwight asked. “Er, why? Did something happen?” 

“Do you know anything about the green ones?”  

Dwight’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t. But he recalled seeing them with Dr. Carter, just before he escaped. No doubt, he’d have discovered their qualities very soon had he not fled. He shook his head, both clearing his thoughts and answering Vittorio. 

“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen that variation before. Did a survivor get infected?” 

It was Vittorio’s turn to shake his head. “No… I just… I needed to know-” he cut himself off, grabbing at his forehead. 

At first, Dwight thought he was in actual pain. But Vittorio was muttering under his breath, and Dwight faintly caught the words - just do it - get it over with. Dwight took two steps back. The noise had Vittorio looking up at him. He felt like he should yell for help, but the indecision of those seconds allowed Vittorio to throw himself at Dwight and knock him into the forest floor. 

A hand smashed into his face, clumsily trying to stifle his screams. A moment later, a wet rag pressed under his nose. It was chloroform, and in Dwight’s frantic terrified mess of a mind, he knew that there were only a few places to get this stuff, one of which was the Institute. His fists banged at Vittorio’s chest, then fruitlessly scratched at his face. 

Vittorio’s teeth were bared, grinding together as he kept hissing for Dwight to ‘ go to sleep already’ . As much as he kicked and clawed and tried to defy that order, Dwight’s body eventually went limp. 

---

When Dwight woke up, he knew he’d been under for awhile. His head hurt like hell and his glasses were gone, making the nausea from his already spinning vision ten-times worse. He didn’t even try to move yet, trying to steady his thrumming head and muddled thoughts enough to understand where in the Entity’s realm he was. 

Grass. Trees. A reddening sky. Dwight craned his head, nearly vomiting at the motion as he did a double-take. The sky was red. He didn’t know what territory had a red sky. That also meant he wasn’t in camp. 

When Vittorio’s attack came back to him, he did try to move. He tried to get up and run, but something bound his wrists and ankles together. A rag was stuffed in his mouth, and the breaths from his nose came out deafeningly loud. He was on the ground. Vittorio was leaning against a nearby tree, trying to patch up a nasty gash on his side. He had paused in his cleaning, staring at Dwight as if he wasn’t supposed to be awake. 

Well he was. And through the fear, Dwight felt a spark of rage. He tried to scream at Vittorio, to ask him where they were and what his problem was. Dwight had done nothing to this man. Vittorio just watched him thrash and shout behind his gag before slowly turning back to finish wrapping his stomach. 

He wouldn’t look up, a hard mask over his face as he meticulously put back on his shirt and jacket. A bloody rip spanned the side of his attire, framed with fresh blood. When he stood, it was with a subtle wince. Dwight glared at him the whole time. 

“You shouldn’t be awake,” Vittorio said. 

He still kept his gaze downcast, even as he walked over to stand by Dwight’s head. The ex-assistant kicked out at him with another shout. Vittorio sighed in anger and grabbed his ankle, forcibly pinning Dwight down as he took out a silver knife. Dwight froze, staring at the (admittedly beautiful) weapon. It only cut free his ankles. Vittorio then snagged him by the shoulder, and with obvious discomfort on his part, hauled Dwight to his now freed legs. 

“Walk,” was all Vittorio said, shoving Dwight forward. “We’re not far.” 

Dwight tried to ask again where they were. His muffled questions earned him a knife poking into his back, threatening him silently to shut up. As he walked, the sky turned deeper, the tall grass turned to dark dirt, and houses (burnt and still glowing with the heat of a dying fire) slowly began to replace the trees. 

In the quiet of this new landscape, Dwight’s fear rose up again. He would understand if Vittorio was taking him back to Dr. Carter, back to the Institute. A survivor might want a reward. But the unknown of the situation brewed a particularly chilling sense of dread. Vittorio’s resolve to ignore him wasn’t helping. 

The crack of a collapsing pillar made Dwight jump. The area was hot and smoky, piled high with remnants of a once vicious fire. All there was was orange embers, glowing hot in the bodies of dead wood like colorful veins. It clogged Dwight’s throat and nose, the dirty air making it difficult to swallow. 

The heat grew worse the farther they walked. So did the smell, as the underlying sour scent of burnt corpses made Dwight wrinkled his nose in distaste. If he could, he would have covered his nose and mouth. 

Vittiroio seemed completely unbothered. If anything, the more they walked, the more his pace picked up, his gait purposeful and with a renewed sense of excitement. He grabbed Dwight’s arm to force him to keep up. Dwight stumbled along, heart quickening with every step towards the unknown. 

Metal. He heard that in the distance, growing increasingly heavier as if the steps were made of lead weights. 

Dwight froze. Vittorio shoved him forward, making the man stumble forward just as a hulking armored knight rounded one of the shacks. He held a huge sword across his back. Dwight remained shaking, Vittorio having paused but keeping an anchored hand on his shoulder. 

The knight stopped. His helm hid his face, but Dwight practically felt the weight of his gaze boring into him. When it lifted to Vittorio, he heard the survivor take a quick inhale of breath and step forward, moving Dwight with him. 

“I got him for you, Tarhos,” Vittorio said. 

He sounded different. Even submerged in his fear, Dwight noticed that the cold, stonewall of a man was no longer beside him. This Vittorio was grinning, both proudly and nervously, hand fidgeting at his side while the other grew painfully tight on Dwight. The ex-assistant cringed, the following silence near deafening. Vittorio looked like a hopeful child, waiting for praise from a parent. He looked like Dwight when he was deep in the delusion that he could prove his worth to the Doctor. Back when he wanted that approval. 

No praise came. Just the shift of metal and Dwight screaming as he was grabbed. The knight threw him onto a painfully hard shoulder, his gut jamming into the armor as if he’d been punched. Tarhos turned to swiftly march deeper into his territory. 

Vittorio followed along, wincing as his bloody side made him stumble. He caught Dwight’s frightened gaze and his eyes narrowed. Dwight wanted to glare back, to shout insults, but he only looked down at the ground as it passed under the Knight’s heels. 

He faintly recalled Min explaining how shitty it felt to be carried like a sack of potatoes, waiting for that sudden pierce of flesh going through a hook. 

Cowering against the unknown, blind to his fate, Dwight felt he truly understood that sentiment. 

In the middle of this smoldering miserable territory, there was a camp. It was near a partially intact shack and stable, with a gallows hanging ominously as a backdrop. 

A few fires littered the area, alongside busted target dummies and tables of broken weapons. Dwight was thrown onto the ground, and he rolled over as more footsteps approached. 

There was strained but humored cackling and strangled voices. These men were smaller than the Knight, but they were equally (if not more so) terrifying. They wore armor in bits and pieces, wrapped around their bodies in rope, rags and welded metal. There were three of them - a behemoth of a man, a sword-welder with a red bandana, and a giggling man with broken armor jutting from half his face. He wielded what looked like a poker. 

“Vittorio,” Dwight flinched at the low but powerful voice of the Knight, wanting but unable to back away as the killer turned to the survivor beside him. “You are not allowed to return to the survivors’ fire. You’ll stay until we return.” 

Vittorio nodded like a man accepting an important mission, but Tarhos merely turned back to his trio of fellow brutes. 

“Alejandro,” Tarhos said, and the gangly poker-welding one stepped forward, a wicked smile on his face. “Stay and guard the prisoner. No one is to leave this camp.” 

Alejandro grinned even wider. Rather than answer in coherent words, he laughed. It was a shrill joyous cackle, and it made every hair on Dwight’s body stand up. 

“Malecek. Sander. You will accompany me.”

The assassin-esque man and the huge beast of a man stepped forward, groaning like animals as if in excited agreement. Dwight felt like he was surrounded by wild dogs. Vittorio seemed unbothered, focused solely on Tarhos and keeping his captor in place. 

“We’ll need proof,” the assassin - Malecek - said, his voice thin and wispy. A broken sword was pointed at Dwight, who paled and tried to back up. Vittorio’s grip grew painful again and he was shoved back into place. 

“His glasses will do. That doctor is mad. If we cut off a piece of his pet, he may not give us what we desire.” Tarhos said, voice like a stone looming over Dwight’s head. He held his breath, eyes going wide as metal clad fingers suddenly reached for his face. He expected gouging, tearing, all manner of horrible things. 

Tarhos merely took off his glasses and handed them to Malecek. The man took them and they disappeared into a pouch. Blind as a bat, Dwight put his head down and tried not to freak out too much. He quickly understood what they were talking about. They were going to give him back to the Doctor. But they were going to be smart about it. 

I’m so fucked, he thought desperately. 

That hopelessness made him suddenly numb. He barely felt Vittorio grip his arm and drag him along. He passed the hulking figure of Sander, his eye fixated ahead as the heads sewn in his belly came dangerously close. Dwight hadn’t even noticed the decapitated, terrifying things until now, too scared of the man’s strange helm and giant weapon. He turned away in fear. 

With the heavy marching of footsteps, the Knight and his entourage left. A cackling followed the silence, and Alejandro, who had wandered back over to the fire, pointed his weapon at Vittorio. 

“Tie him up on the wagon,” the man said, and even his words were said between a fit of giggles. 

Dwight didn’t want to be anywhere near this guy. He pliantly let Vittorio drag him the extra few feet away to be tied by his wrists to the wagon wheel. No one seemed like they were going to hurt him, not in the immediate moment anyway. Vittorio wandered to sit on a log nearby, while Alejandro sat before the fire. The end of his poker turned slowly in the flames, and his face leaned in to happily stare, much too close to the licking heat. 

Dwight, meanwhile, just stared down at his shoes. The rope was so tight, his hands were numb. He could see only shapes and blurs, and he couldn’t fathom a way out of this. He wanted to go home. Home to the campfire, to Elodie and Jake and… and… His eyes heated up and he turned his head into his arm, feigning that he was merely resting his neck as he wiped away the intruding tears. 

He imagined Caleb, charging in and rescuing him. But that made the feelings of despair worse, and he settled for counting the grains of dirt at his feet. 

He wasn’t sure when the silence broke. Dwight’s head snapped up so fast, the muscle in his shoulder twinged. The loud boom of metal rioted against the hot air, caused by Alejandro suddenly hurling a broken dagger at Vittorio. The man had stood up and was a few feet from the log when the weapon bounced off a metal wheel, bouncing off and nearly hitting Vittorio. The man turned, hesitant fear on his otherwise neutral expression. 

“Where you think you’re going?” Alejandro asked, leaning forward, the flames nearly licking at his chin. 

“I need more supplies for my wound,” Vittorio said, hand raising to press against his bloody side. “It’s still bleeding.” 

“You have clothes on your back, don’t you?” Alejandro sneered. “Use that jacket, and tie it off, stupid boy.” 

“It… needs stitches,” Vittorio’s voice grew smaller with every word. Dwight didn’t like this. It felt wrong to see the proud Vittorio shrink in on himself, like a kid caught doing something bad. “I don’t want to bleed out and have to travel all the way-”

“It needs stitches?” Alejandro stood. He stood so fast and ram-rod straight, Dwight wasn’t sure he saw him move. That poker was still in the fire. His gangly hand readjusted its grip, shifting the glowing orange end of his weapon through the flames. When it pulled free of the fire, the wickedly hot end stayed as bright and vibrant as the purest serum of orange pustula plant. 

“I’ll be a few moments,” Vittorio said, voice tightening. 

He didn’t move away as Alejandro staked towards him, that smile still wide and that poker waving through the air. Alejandro held his hand over it, and clicked his tongue.

“Let me see how bad it is,” the killer said. 

Vittorio was still for a few seconds, then a stiff hand came up and pulled his shirt up, revealing the soaking bandages that desperately needed a change. 

“Did I stutter?” Alejadnro asked, voice crescendoing into another cackle. “Let me see.” 

Vittorio sighed, and pulled the bandages loose. They stuck to the wound, and he winced as it peeled off with a sickening pop, falling in a heap at his feet. Vittorio seemed to know what was coming, because he closed his eyes, jaw tensing and head tilting ever so slightly away. Dwight didn’t look away in time. 

The poker pressed into Vittorio's wound, Alejandro jabbing it forward like a sword as he took hold of Vittorio’s neck to hold him in place. A scream escaped the survivor before he bit down on it, choking on his breaths as the sizzling of his flesh and the laughter of the madman filled the camp. 

With one last giggle, the poker was thrust away and Vittorio stumbled to one knee, a shaky hand hovering over the newly glistening burn. It may not have been bleeding like before, but it looked scorched and ugly and terribly painful. Blood oozed sluggishly from the cracked seamed of skin, disappearing as Vittorio snatched his shirt off the ground. 

Alejandro chuckled all the way back to his spot by the fire. Vittorio composed himself before standing. He caught Dwight looking and a scowl blanketed his features. He walked, as briskly and as sure-footed as his agonized side would allow, and fell awkwardly onto his log. 

Other than that, there was nothing other than the occasional chuckle. 

---

The wagon was loose. Dwight realized it when he leaned forward too far, feeling the creak of the wood and the shift against his back. It was subtle, but the feeling of the weight pressing into his shoulder blades gave away how old the metal bits were. It was ready to fall off the wagon. It was also really heavy, and as Dwight sat up straighter, keeping the wood painfully firm against the wagon, he realized that he had a chance. It was a slim one, but it was all he had. 

Dwight glanced up to Vittorio tapping his knee, looking off in the distance. Alejandro was still staring in the fire. Dwight gave another slight tug. The wheel shifted. He lifted his chin and called to Vittorio, making his voice seem small and nervous. That wasn’t hard to pull off at all. 

“Vittorio, I- can you tie my hands lower?” Dwight asked. “My arms are killing me.”

“You’re fine.” Vittorio didn’t even look up. Alejandro glanced briefly, but only laughed and went back to his (apparently riveting) fire. 

“Please. I’m trying to be quiet, but it hurts.” 

Vittorio scoffed. Dwight could see the irony, especially as Vittorio (with a burn scraped across his side) was forced to painfully make his way over to alleviate a perceived discomfort. He stopped, hovering over Dwight as he glared at the ropes, as if judging himself whether or not it was worth the effort. Dwight strained his arms, making a noise of pain as if it was becoming unbearable. Vittorio rolled his eyes. 

“Fucking baby,” he huffed, but still reached out to fiddle with the knot. 

Dwight waited until the rope loosened, until he had enough room to separate his wrists and before Vittorio could grab him. Dwight tugged the rope forward as hard as he could. 

He heard a loud crack, Vittroio cursing, and rolled to the side as the wheel fell after him. He rolled out of the way just as it collapsed onto Vittorio, pinning him to the ground in a cloud of dust and soot. 

There was a cackle - a crazed suffocating laugh - behind him. Dwight didn’t look. He just ran, his sore legs tingling against the sudden pull of his muscles. 

He heard Alejandro gaining on him. He leapt over the rubble and loose stones with ease, while Dwight pushed himself forward, leaving thin cuts and splinters in his hands as he stumbled over trembling legs. 

Alejandro was only a few feet behind him when he let out another wailing cackle and swiped Dwight across the back. His poker was still hot, and Dwight screamed as it grazed his sweater. The smell of burning fabric swelled in the air. Dwight threw himself through an open window, escaping the full touch of the metal and blindly scampering up a rickety staircase. Its rotten steps gave out under his feet a few times, and he was even more bloody by the time he crawled to the top floor. 

There was nothing but an ever-burning fire in the corner and a missing wall. He could barely see, bumping into broken crates and pillars to find a hiding spot (no matter how measly).

And then he heard Alejandro on the top step. Dwight felt all the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He bit his lip hard, and turned, flinching at the sight of Alejandro sticking his poker in the nearby fire. He was going to receive the same punishment Vittorio did, then be dragged back to that horrible camp. 

Alejandro’s wicked grin peered at him from under his broken mask. Like shards of busted glass, his armor shone sharply against the licking flames, coloring the crude metal in a wash of bright orange. Alejandro grinned at the colors like it was the most gorgeous thing in the realm, before lifting it up, eyes alight with even more admiration for the concentration of pure heat. 

Dwight did not want to be incapacitated in such a horrific manner. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running forward. Alejandro’s eyes shifted with a brief second of surprise before swinging down his weapon. It caught Dwight in the shoulder, scalding the skin near his neck, but not stripping his flesh. 

He screamed, arms wrapped around sharp armor, and forced both of them through the fire and out the missing wall. The fall was stomach turning, his world flipping as he kicked away from the madman and hit hard dirt. He rolled, breath completely gone from his lungs and the feeling of suffocation gripping him like angry hands. He rolled over, gasping, and saw that Alejandro was not as lucky in his fall. 

Where Dwight would only have a few bruises, Alejandro had fallen right into a pit of crackling flames. He’d been speared through the torso by jutting wood and was groaning in agony - a low and guttural hum. He did not flail or scream. He watched his flesh be burned away with a dreamy look. 

Maybe, though pain spilled from his lips, he wasn’t really feeling it, watching himself from far away. Dwight had experienced that quite a few times under the Doctor. It made him feel sick. 

With very little breath regained, he stood up. Wobbly legs stumbled, then walked, then half-jogged to the edge of the territory. He had no idea where to go, and it looked as if he was deep enough in the realm that any direction could lead to unfamiliar grounds. Yet anywhere was better than here. 

As he reached trees, away from the burning buildings and hot dry dirt, Dwight felt someone watching him. He turned back to look. His heart jumped at the sight of Vittorio. He was holding his side, standing before a distant pillar of fire where old corpses were skewered. He was far enough away that Dwight couldn’t see his expression, but he could guess how murderous it looked. 

So Dwight ran. He wasn’t sure if he was going, but he prayed to the Entity that he was running back to Caleb, back to the survivors, and back to his small nook of sanity. 

Chapter 11

His lungs hurt. Dwight was sure that he was going to fall over from light-headedness. He could barely draw in a breath because of his own panic. That, and the smoke had scorched his throat. He kept running into branches and side-swiping trees. 

There was no way he was going to make it back to the campfire with a single hand. He was sure to be caught by Vittorio or slaughtered by a killer he wouldn’t even see coming. Every step, every ragged breath, he waited for that hand to slap on his shoulder and drag him back to hell. But every step, he got farther and farther. 

His frantic mind slowly registered that Vittorio had a bad injury. The man could hardly walk straight, especially after being struck with that hot poker. It didn’t slow Dwight down in his run, but it did lessen his panic. When he slipped and fell down a slope, though, he was forced to stop and gather his bearings. 

He didn’t give himself a long reprieve. Just enough to catch his breath, steady his heart, and calm the shaking in his legs. 

The territory was changing. The trees thinned in the usual manner they did when crossing into a killer’s area. Dwight tried to keep to the shrubbery, but his poor sight made it difficult to watch his step. 

Branches and leaves crunched underfoot. It made his heart leap in fright every time. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds. His wrists ached slightly from the rope. He was so distracted, he tripped over a stone. The dirt caught him face-first, and he laid there, hand over his throbbing nose. 

“Dammit,” he muttered, tucking an elbow under his chest. He unconsciously reached out to look for his glasses, before recalling where they were. His fingers clenched, ripping up sharp blades of glass as he cursed his luck. He didn’t know what to do. He was scared, and it was sickening to realize just how absent fear had been in his life recently.

He took a few seconds to calm down, then stood. The forest was thinner in front of him. He squinted through the trunks and saw white. He knew he was on the edge of another killer’s territory. He’d have to go through if he wanted to save himself. 

“Maybe… maybe they’ll be nice,” he reassured himself.

Maybe they’ll skin you for fun, his thoughts argued. 

Dwight tried to be quiet. He couldn’t see all the sticks and dead leaves, creating a mild cacophony of noise that rose just above the pounding of blood in his head. It felt like walking along the edge of a cliff, knowing that a single slip would mean death, but stepping on every loose rock he passed anyway. Dwight eventually had to stop.

The grass was cold. His fingers found the dirt and it was frigid. Dwight titled his head, and looked back up at the distant white. It was snow. He was approaching a snowy realm. He wished he still wore his white lab coat, but he’d swapped it for one of Jake’s sweaters the first day he arrived in camp. It was warm, but it was a dark green, meant to keep him hidden in the woods. Dwight gulped, then strode forward, just to get it over with. Maybe they weren’t home. 

Snow crunched underfoot, as loud as dry branches. The trees thinned to nothing, replaced with large boulders and tiny sheds that were sunk into the white. Snowboards and skis lay discarded and broken along them. Dwight used the cover, zigzagging his way passed the huge wooden lodge in the middle of this snowfield. 

His heart nearly stopped. Dwight tucked behind a rock, having seen a dark figure moving from the woods to the main building. Dwight held his breath, but no footsteps were running towards him. No shouts or threats. Nothing. 

He didn’t dare peek back around the stone. He just waited, hoping the killer would go inside. But that plan was short-lived. He went wide-eyed when another blurry figure, this one familiar even as a smudge, ran out of the trees. 

Vittorio paused, and Dwight knew that he was being stared at. All the hairs on his body stood on end, and he choked on his pounding heart as he scrambled to sit up. Vittorio was sprinting across the snow. Dwight, much less gracefully, began stumbling frantically through the powder, trying to reach the other side. 

His breath was heavy in his ears. His legs ached as he pumped them to go faster. Vittorio was catching up. He could hear him steadily gaining, an anger in every rough breath, like a cougar opening its sharp maw to tear into a deer’s throat. 

Vittorio shouted in pain. Dwight turned and saw him rolling in the snow, powder flying up around his and another body. There was the glint of something sharp in the stranger’s hands, and Dwight looked away as the knife came down on Vittorio’s shoulder. 

He heard him scream, then screamed himself, as someone grabbed him around the waist and flung him into the ground. Icy boots pressed into his back. He was too tired to really struggle and remained pinned like a bug on the frozen earth. Dwight’s cheek burned against the snow. 

“Well, look who it is. The Doctor’s fucking labrat,” Frank’s voice floated over his head, followed by his dirty boots pausing before his nose. Dwight tried to look away, but Frank ‘tsked’ and kicked his gaze upward to his smiling, bloody mask. 

“Last time we met, you put me and Jules through hell,” he said, voice dangerous. Dwight gulped, but didn’t say anything, too scared to light the obvious fuse. “You have anything to say?” 

“I… I’m sorry,” Dwight said, feeling pathetic as soon as it came out. 

Frank laughed alongside the others, and that boot reared back. Dwight’s eyes shut just as it nailed him across the face. He groaned, a burning pain shooting through his cheekbone and already bruised nose. Frank said something that floated over his head. He was hauled to his feet. Nausea lurched in his gut and he barely managed to hold back the vomit rolling in his throat. Frank slapped him in the back of the head. 

“Move it, asshole,” he hissed. 

Dwight obliged, though clumsily, as the Legion led him to the main lodge. Vittorio was bleeding from his head, right behind them with Susie holding a knife to his throat. Joey was by her, which meant the person twisting his arm painfully up his back was Julie. She shoved him forward when he stumbled, pulling at his poor arm each time. A knife rested on his shoulder, playing by his neck. 

“You know the shit you put us through?” she hissed. “You’re lucky we need you alive.” Her knife dug deeper and he winced, warmth beading down to his collarbone. “But I don’t think The Doctor needs you whole.” 

Dwight’s heart was loud in his ears, all the way into the lodge where the bitter cold was less fierce. Crunching snow turned into heavy footfalls. Frank kicked powder off his boots before gesturing to the couch. It sat by a fireplace, and Dwight would have been grateful for the warmth, if not for the knife pressed consistently to his face. Julie kicked his leg, making him sit on the dusty cushions. Vittorio was thrown to the floorboards, held in place with a foot to his neck. He glared up at Susie like a wild wolf.  

“Frank,” Julie snapped, everyone ignoring the survivor. “We can’t fuck this up. We should keep the labrat here. The Doctor will fuck us over if we hand him over first.”

Frank looked away from the fire. His mask glowed against the orange heat. “We’ll need evidence. You can do the honors, Jules. You deserve it.” 

“My fucking pleasure,” she growled, dark satisfaction in her words. 

Dwight gasped as he was shoved forward. She grabbed his arm as Frank came over, grabbing his neck and other arm to hold him still, bent over his own shaking legs. Julie grabbed his hand, pulling it outward. His fingers began to tremble violently. He tried to take it back, but her grip was unyielding. Dwight couldn’t catch his breath. He didn’t want to lose more fingers. He didn’t want to face that torture again. 

He had no choice. 

The bite of the blade was too dull - not at all like the instruments the Doctor kept ready and sharp for procedures. His skin was pulled and torn, and he shrieked, hands holding him down and Julie’s ragged breath over his head as she cut. When she got to the bone, she paused, and he practically felt the wicked smile under her mask as she pulled his gory, trembling hand outward, stood, and raised a foot over it. Dwight begged, not even sure what he was saying, just lost in a frantic state of terror, when her foot came down. 

Snap! 

The bone cracked, and the rest of his flesh tore free, white hot lightning taking over the entire limb, all the way to the nerves in his skull. Blinded, he yowled and thrashed and begged. Hands shoved him over. He hit the floorboards shoulder first, the wood wet and warm with blood.

Dwight curled up on the ground. The pain had numbed after several long minutes. Still there, but in the background of his own buzzing head. He held the stump to his chest, staring at the wall and the shadowy shapes cast by the fire. They talked over him, moving around him and the growing puddle of red.

“What about this one?” Joey asked, and he heard Vittorio grunt in pain. Dwight looked up, in time to see Vittorio on his knees, head pulled up, the knife contemplating slicing his throat. He looked at the Legion with eyes full of rage, as if they were annoying teenagers getting in his way and not annoying teenagers threatening his life. 

“I want to take him out,” Julie said, rage not yet quelled. 

“You got to cut off the geek’s hand,” Frank argued. “I didn’t get any of our last trials before the season started, so I should get this kill!” 

“Frank, you moron,” Joey scoffed, shoving him aside. “You got to go to the last trial we had! You just sucked ass so much you couldn’t get any kills.”

Susie laughed, and even Julie couldn’t hide a chuckle, while Frank started to yell at Joey, claiming that he had gotten four kills and he was crazy. 

“But you said you didn’t get to have a trial!” Susie giggled, coaxing him into further anger. “Guess you don’t get this kill!” 

“You guys, shut up!” Frank snarled. 

Dwight was in too much pain to really follow their teasing argument. But he did notice Vittorio shifting slightly, eyes glowering up at Frank, who had turned his back to him to shout at Susie. Vittorio was bloody and bruised, but the tension in his frame was like a coiled spring, pressed down, ready to snap forward. The legion should have been paying more attention. 

Vittorio attacked when Joey turned slightly, hand on his shoulder, not seeing him as a threat. The man leapt upward, blood spraying from his open wound and across the floor. Dwight rolled away as Vittorio bit into the side of Joey's neck. Red burst from the fabric, under the mask, and Joey howled as he tried to rip off the body. 

A knife flashed, stabbing at Vittorio, but he expected it. His hand intercepted the strike, gripping Joey’s wrist and pulling it backwards in a practiced movement. The knife fell. He grabbed it, and in just those few seconds, he was back on top of Joey and poking him full of bloody holes. The other three Legion had been too slow. 

They jumped him, weapons out, but Vittorio shoved a limp Joey into Julie. She fell backwards as Susie and Frank stabbed at the survivor. As if pain was no burden, Vittorio ducked under a knife lunge, slicing Susie’s stomach, then spinning into Frank with an elbow to the face. 

Frank’s knife scraped his shoulder, but Vittorio grabbed his arm, thrusting it forward to knee his mask. Blood gushed from under the newly formed crack over the smile. He hit the ground. But not before Vittorio jumped on Susie, finishing her off with several punctures to the neck. Julie had just managed to shove a dead Joey off her. 

“You motherfucker!” She screamed, sprinting forward, weapon raised in blind fury. 

Vittorio paused, eyes narrowed, and then ducked, sweeping her feet out from under her. She fell, twisting to try and save herself. Vittorio jumped her like a lion, knife out, flashing across her neck. She gasped, struggling, legs kicking out. A strangled, wet gasping called out for help, one of her bloody hands reaching out for a dead Frank. 

Then it was still, save for Vittorio’s harsh breaths, hunched over his kill.

 Dwight didn’t breathe. His wrist throbbed in agony, yet it felt muffled - a feeling unimportant compared to the fear growing in the silence. Vittorio slowly turned to look at him, speckles of gore across his enraged face, a blankness to it as if he wasn’t fully out of the fight. Dwight felt like a bird caught in the sights of a hungry owl. 

The tension shattered like broken glass. Vittorrio had lunged at him, and Dwight had fled, both stumbling over weak legs and crashing through the cabin. Vittorio wobbled on his feet, the moment of intense bloodlust and adrenaline leaving him shaky. It was just enough for Dwight to make it out into the snow, his missing hand leaving a thin red trail behind him in the overturned powder. 

“Dwight!” Vittorio howled, voice carrying over the wind. 

Dwight flinched and kept moving. He didn’t look behind him. He didn't care to see how close his captor was. He just focused on getting to the tree line, his feet finally breaking free of the thick, clinging snow when he reached its edge. He broke through the trees, breath filling his head and clouding his thoughts, before his body lurched and his heart flipped along with his upper half. 

He rolled headfirst into melting snow, falling painfully down a steep slope. White powder bled into mud, and then grass. The thickening greenery caught Dwight as he landed with an oof. He felt his arm tingling, the pain there but not, his head ringing sickly as he stared up at the dark sky. 

He refused to spare his missing hand a glance. It would only make him panic. He needed to keep moving, he needed- oh shit.

 He sat ramrod straight, staring up at Vittorio as the man shouted at him from the top of the slope. How the fuck was Vittorio moving so fast? He had the endurance of an olympian, Dwight thought bitterly, rolling onto his stomach and forcing himself to his feet. He was so exhausted, his run was more of a stumbling jog. He fell into tree trunks he passed, pushing himself away from their rough bark just to keep moving forward. 

He heard Vittorio, equally as exhausted and fumbling on his own legs, stumble down the slope after him. They must look like drunks chasing each other, falling and tripping their way slowly through the forest. If it weren’t for the obvious wounds and the thick blood left in their wake, the sight would have been funny. Dwight almost laughed hysterically, simply because he couldn’t believe he’d gotten into this mess. 

And then he heard a gasp of angry pain, and the pounding footfalls stopped. 

Vittorio on the ground, having just fallen to trembling knees. He growled at Dwight, a wordless display of rage, and tried to push himself up. His arms shivered violently and crumbled, sending him face first into dirt. He looked up, teeth bared like an animal and screamed hoarsely for Dwight to come back. 

Dwight kept moving, trying to put as much distance as he could between them. Vittorio’s shouts got angrier, more drastic in their threats, before Dwight’s foot slipped and he found himself falling down another slope. This one was much steeper. It made his gut rise into his throat, a startled yelp leaving him as he tumbled. 

His vision blurred, and in a collage of dark colors, he saw a flash of vibrant red. He thought it was blood at first, but then he hit the ground and reality settled. It was red pustula flowers, bulging from the roots of a tree. Dwight yelped, trying to crawl from the vision-inducing plant. No way was he finding out what a second-dose would do to his mind. But its presence became unimportant. He looked up at the cracking of branches. Vittorio was coming. 

He rolled over, wincing at the pain in his back. He almost wanted to kill himself, just to reset everything. If he wasn’t sure he’d end up back with Dr. Carter, he’d have used the sharp stone his hand coiled around. Instead, he raised it to his chest, pushing himself up against a tree as Vittorio fell (with way more grace than him) down the hill. 

Dwight held out the rock, a pathetic weapon, but still some form of protection. Vittorio sneered at it, as if offended, before launching himself forward with his last bit of strength. It threw Dwight off guard and they ended up on the ground, limbs striking and flailing as Vittorio attempted to pin him down. 

They rolled right into a thorn bush. The sharp hooks dug into Dwight’s arms, making him scramble to get away. Vittorios’ arms were sliced with thin lines against the same thorns, but he hardly seemed to care, face twisted in fierce determination as he wrapped his hands around Dwight’s throat and started to squeeze. Dwight’s eyes went wide. Tears leaked from them, the pressure in his head building rapidly, making his cheeks flush red. He tried to pry the fingers off, kicked and clawed and tried to beg.

Vittorio was going to win. Vittorio was going to drag him back to that hellish fire-scape, before he was returned to Dr. Carter. What happened after that, he had stupidly allowed himself to not worry about. He thought he was safe. 

He nearly sobbed, hope draining from him as quickly as oxygen. Red caught the corner of his vision - bright, bold, enticing. He gasped, his arm snapping out and his fingers just barely catching the drooping petal of the pustula. 

Vittorio didn’t notice until it was too late, so focused on subduing Dwight, that he hardly reacted as the plant was jerked from its root and whacked across his face. It was light, hardly stronger than a weak slap, but the petals had torn, dragging ruby liquid across his snarling features. 

Vittorio let go with a wicked hiss. Dwight had gotten the plant’s fluid on himself as well. He stared at it for a moment, before looking at the flower, taking it by the stem and jumping after Vittorio. His bloody wrist throbbed as he held the arm against Vittorio’s neck. Claws gouged at his face, leaving bloody cuts that Dwight couldn’t feel. 

He jammed the plant into Vittorio’s face. The man punched him across the jaw. Dwight fell backwards, and Vittorio sat up, knocking him fully into the ground. A rock. Dwight saw it right in front of his face, clear in his near-sighted vision, and he grabbed it. Vittorio grunted as it struck him across the face. He held his eye as blood welled quickly between his fingers. As soon as Dwight kicked himself backwards, spine hitting the trunk, he saw more pustula in its roots. 

He gulped, vision zeroing in on the blighted things. A sudden steadiness overcame him as he ripped a cluster free. Vittorio was stumbling to his feet, wobbly and Dwight struck him with the rock again, sending him flying backwards into tall grass. Dwight straddled him, raising the red pustula over his head, a sudden anger rising in him at the sheer fucking persistence of everyone trying to use him. Vittorio held a bloody temple, one eye welled shut and the other blinking in and out of focus. When it settled on Dwight’s face, it widened in shock. 

“Dwight, stop,” he kicked out, then paused as one of the red petals loosened and fell near his head. Juice from the crushed blossoms ran down Dwight’s arm, his whole body rigid and trembling. 

“I never did anything to you,” Dwight nearly snarled, the flowers crushing more in the grip, the bright red insides speckling the grass around them. It had started to hiss along Dwight’s arm, as if sinking like chemicals into his flesh, but the ex-assistant didn’t flinch. 

“I-I-” Vittiorio fumbled for words, and he looked like he did among the Knight and his men. Uncertain. Scared. “Dwight, please. I have to do what he says.” 

“No. You don’t.”

“You don’t understand!” 

Dwight was quiet, those three words striking something deep inside him. When he spoke his voice was calm, not at all reflecting the mess of anger and grief and shame that came with Vittorio’s judgment.

 “Don’t drag me into your issues, Vittorio. You need to deal with them yourself.” 

And then he stuffed the flowers into the man’s mouth as he opened it to say something. Something unimportant. Something stupid. Something so aggravatingly cruel that Dwight kept shoving more flowers until Vittiorio was choking for air. 

Dwight kicked off of him as if disgusted. With himself or Vittorio, he didn’t know. The survivor rolled over and hacked up the petals and stems, body curling into the ground as it started to shake to one side. 

Dwight watched as the movements became more frantic and jerky, until Vittroio seized up with a gasp and collapsed. The air was still. Not even the crows barked above his head. No laughing at misery as they often do.  Just tense silence, broken by the increasingly erratic breaths of a seemingly unconscious Vittorio. 

The pustula juice that coated Dwight’s arm started to burn, or he only just now noticed. He looked down, wiping it off on his shirt in absent-minded urgency. It still hurt, and it sucked that it was his good arm, but it didn’t look damaged if not for some dripping scar lines. 

He felt a little odd. But there were no hallucinations. Maybe a mild sensation of floating, but it could easily be dismissed from the recent fight for his life. He was still angry. Not just at Vittorio, but at himself. For allowing things to get this bad. For not standing up for himself, for hesitating all these years to escape. 

Dwight stood slowly. He stiffened at every crunch of dry grass under his heel. When he reached out to steady himself on a tree, his missing hand passed through the bark and nearly sent him toppling over. He recovered, gripping his mutilated limb to his chest, and stared at the survivor. 

Was that it? Was it over?  

He jumped nearly out of his skin when Vittorio suddenly sat up, eyes wide and frantic as they searched around the forest in blind terror. He was gasping, near sobbing, and reaching through the air as if to pull himself out of some distant nightmare. Vittiorio - so proud and self-assured and strict in his ways - began to sob and beg for help. He reached out, not seeing the forest or Dwight. He saw what the pustula wanted him to see.

“No… no, no, no!” Vittorio began to shout, horror infecting each word with heightened realization. “Not here! Please, no, I can’t be here!” 

He flailed, ripping his arms upward then falling back down as if he were chained to the ground. He thrashed and kicked up dirt, his own mind binding his wrists with fake manacles, contorting his body and jerking himself around like a sick mime performance. It was hard to watch. And yet, Dwight could not look away. 

Vittorio suddenly wretched himself free, and started to laugh. Tears ran down his face as he stared at his (apparently now free) wrists, before looking around at the forest. He saw something else, because he started to cry again, his mouth falling out in a broken sob. He dropped to his knees and kept sobbing, near silent. 

Dwight stared for a few more seconds, but a great unease had blanketed the area. This felt wrong to watch. Vittorio had his own demons to face, and Dwight couldn’t (wouldn’t) help him. Vittorio had to decide himself. Just as Dwight had to learn, is still learning. As angry as he was, he saw himself in this broken man. It was painful to see. 

Dwight turned and walked away from the mess that was Vittorio. He had a campfire to find and a better, more meaningful life to build around it. 

Chapter 12

Dwight collapsed somewhere between the Knight’s realm and just a little passed an unfamiliar street. It was grown over by grass and roots, bordered by deceptively innocent-looking houses. 

Dwight knew better than to rest within the confines of any realm, especially an unfamiliar one. He didn’t fall to his quaking knees until he passed the last house. The grass was cool on his cheek, and he blinked, realizing he had fallen straight to his stomach.

He was just so tired, that he could do nothing but lay there in a growing maw of numbness. He wondered if he was dying, if his wounds were catching up to him. But that was unlikely in this realm, where blood loss slows and gaping tears might as well be shallow stab wounds. It was all meant to keep a victim alive and suffering longer. 

A crow cawed overhead. Dwight blinked up at it. He wasn’t dying, but if he closed his eyes and fell asleep, it was like tossing himself to a grave regardless. Who knew what killers lurked this far out.

If he died, it was a gamble on what the realm would consider his home. He could end up at the warmth of the fire. Or he could end up back in the cold halls of the Institute. I don’t want that- I don’t- I can’t! 

Feeling came flooding back all at once as he recalled the violent thrust of a scalpel into the Doctor’s neck. The anger - the sheer rage - that followed Dwight as he fled, feeling the equally furious electricity jump at his heels like ravenous dogs. The numbness bled to icy fear, a constant motivator in his life, one that slapped him across the face and reminded him of what was at stake. 

He could rest when he was safe. But with clarity, came pain. 

Dwight grit his teeth, hoisting himself with one arm, the other dangling at his side. It hurt too much to lift, and the weight of it hanging made his stump feel grossly heavy. He fashioned a sling for his throbbing arm with what was left of his sweater. He tied it around his neck, and his aching arm finally had a place to rest. His wrist’s pulsing pain dwindled to a fluttering discomfort. 

 looked himself over once more, nodded, and tiredly started to walk again. He had no idea where he was going, just that he’d be vigilant, gain distance, and eventually the woods would become familiar. 

They have too. I can’t go back- 

He snapped himself from his increasingly panicked thoughts. He would spiral if he wasn’t careful. Each step felt like a physical and mental force of will, urging his body to fight against exhaustion and urging his mind to keep quiet and not wander. It was like herding two crows at once, each of them fighting the other and refusing to stop shrieking. It was too much. He fell again, grasping his head, desperate for this fucking nightmare to be over. 

Maybe- Maybe I should have never left the Institute- I should have never stabbed- He fell further into the ground, over his knees, that direction of thought hitting him like a tumbling boulder. He hurt Dr. Carter. He hurt him. He had been so happy, so welcomed at the campfire, that he had been able to ignore the severity of what he’d done. 

He didn’t know if he regretted hurting Dr. Carter because he feared the repercussions, or because he knew he had done something irreversible. If he returned to the Institute, would Dr. Carter still want him as an assistant? What if the Doctor was so disgusted by his betrayal that he locked him up, ignored him, treated him solely as an animal to be tested on? He had always been mistreated, sure, but at least Dr. Carter regarded him with some level of care. Not like another human, no. More like a favored labrat he gave treats and pets to. No better than a pet. Maybe even less than that. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he said aloud, still holding his head, still shaking from his rapid stream of thoughts. “I’m sorry- I’m so tired.” 

His bad arm pressed tightly to his stomach, straining against his sling. His stump rubbed against it, aching, and the pain brought him back to the present. He stared at the grass gently swaying against his rapid breaths. The green made him think of Jake’s familiar jacket. Of Jake dropping onto the tiles of the Institute and helping him, no questions asked. He had called him a friend, and since then, had proven time and time again that he was. 

Dwight had a friend to go back to. He had friends, people who laughed with him and talked to him and were nice for no other reason than they liked him. He had a man who cared about him, liked him, made his gut swirl with butterflies - he had Caleb. He wanted to see him again, to breathe in the smell of leather and dust, wrapped in long arms and feeling a kind of belonging he never had. 

Dwight wasn't going to lose that. Carter wasn’t going to treat him like a stupid rat anymore. He would fight if he had to, he promised himself. No more giving in. 

He wiped at his eyes, but they were dry. He felt like crying, but maybe everything was dried up, wrung from him these last vicious hours. It felt like days. 

Standing, Dwight started forward with a renewed sense of motivation.

---

When he realized he was being followed, it took everything Dwight had not to start sprinting. He was stumbling over a thick section of the underbrush and would only get tangled up if he panicked. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Whoever was tailing him matched his steps, but they were too heavy to conceal the overlap of added noise. 

Dwight wanted to look, but instead focused on the grove of trees ahead. It thinned out around their roots, giving him probably his only chance to make a run for it, gain some distance and hide. It was a poor plan, but it was all he had. He executed it several seconds more than intended when the footsteps suddenly rushed forward, gaining rapidly on his heels. It felt like his heart jumped from his throat as he screamed and ran. 

A giant hand clamped around the back of his neck. He gasped and flung his good arm backwards. That was caught too, and the killer spun him around. His voice was rough and annoyed, demanding Dwight to shut up and listen. 

Dwight blinked, fist pounding harmlessly off Evan’s chest. The mask glared down at him, but from underneath, there was a huff of mild frustration. He stood and let go, and Dwight nearly fell on his ass. His wobbly legs somehow kept him upright. 

“E-evan? I-what are you doing here?” 

“The whole realm is in an uproar looking for you,” Evan said, pointedly ignoring the question. Dwight swallowed thickly and took a step back. He saw the whites of Evan’s eyes through the small glint of the eyeholes as he rolled them. 

“Relax, runt. If I wanted Carter’s insane offer, I’d have cut your legs off by now.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was an obvious thing Dwight was too dull to realize. “I don’t even want to leave. There’s nothing for me back out there. Just a permanent death and a hell worse than this, I’m sure.” 

“You-huh?” Dwight shook his head. “What do you mean to leave? As in the Entity’s realm?” 

Evan looked him up and down. “Where’ve you been, boy?” 

“Uh, escaping killers. And a survivor,” Dwight said. He lifted his mutilated arm and gave a weak, awkward chuckle. “Heh, they should have gone for the leg, huh?” 

Evan rolled his eyes again, but there was a faint smile beyond the jagged, wooden teeth. 

“Being away from Carter gave you some personality,” he quipped. 

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“You trying to reach the survivor side, I’m guessing?” 

“I… yeah. I don’t know where I am. I was knocked out and woke up in… uh, the Knight’s realm.” He tried not to think about the fire, the hot poker, the callousness with which it seared flesh- “What did you mean by leave?” 

“Dr. Carter says he found a way to leave the realm. Some kind of portal. I don’t know, I wasn’t there when he demonstrated.” 

Dwight’s blood went cold. “W-when was this? Where? How did he-”

A large hand came up. “Calm down. The demonstration was at his Institute. Several killers were invited. It’s second-hand information, so I wouldn’t trust it. The Doc could have fooled them into thinking what they saw was real. But it convinced them. And they think their ticket out-” he jabbed a finger Dwight’s way, “is you.”

How lucky that he got the one killer who didn’t believe in the escape, let alone want to. He wouldn’t question Evan. The man had already proved that he cared about Dwight’s wellbeing in his own cold, indifferent way, way back when Jake helped him. He wouldn’t question his luck. Not now. He shook his head. 

“No. Dr. Carter never found a trace of an escape when I worked for him,” Dwight said firmly. “He only said he found the possibility after I left. And… his mind is different now. He’s probably not thinking straight, or being truthful.”

“His mind?” Evan crossed his arms, thinking. “He has been acting loonier than usual. Wouldn’t won’t talk to anyone unless it’s with information about you. Been having to barter with the other freaks for supplies,” he added in an annoyed grumble. “What’s with that anyway? Why’s he suddenly so obsessed with his labrat?” 

“I don’t know!” Dwight said defensively, fully embarrassed. “I mean, I know why. He infected himself with the red pustula plant. It changes the way you think, makes you see things differently.” He shrugged. “He stopped hurting me so much after that, treating me more like an assistant than a subject… He talked like we were working together, making progress together- ” he lifted his hand, rubbing at his eyes, caught off guard when he remembered his glasses weren’t over them. Right. 

“Sorry. I just, I think leaving set him off,” he sighed heavily. “I don’t even know the reason for his perspective change. Kenneth was so obvious, he muttered his hallucinations out loud. And I-” 

His face went red, realizing he was rambling like he was scrawling in a notepad. He cleared his throat, ignoring Evan's odd look. 

“And I assume he tested the red plants on you first. Made you realize he was treating you like shit, huh?” 

“Uh, yeah. That’s about it.”

“Now I really don’t believe Herman. I had some hope for the survivors to leave, though.” He paused, rephrasing. “Well, a few of them don't belong here. No doubt Caleb already told the camp about it. Naive idiot, getting their hopes up.”

“You talked to Caleb?” Dwight perked up. 

Evan snorted. “Yeah, I saw your boyfriend.” Dwight went beet red. “He and some pests have been looking for ya. Guess I should bring you back before more of them get butchered. Reckless lot.” 

“Really? Thank you.” 

“Don’t say it,” Evan turned, heading in a different direction than the one Dwight was stumbling on. “Come on. You’re heading right into Adriana’s territory. She’s very happy under the Entity. And she likes playthings.” 

Dwight gulped and scurried after him. “Duly noted.” 

He stuck close, feeling a lot more invigorated with a wall of muscle and a cleaver to protect him. Evan stalked forward, long strides that crushed underfoot, his dark eyes dipping back and forth in the practiced awareness of a predator. 

It felt nice to breathe easier. It felt even better to find another ally in this realm. Maybe not as friendly as Caleb or Elodie, but not being butchered was a green flag in his book. And distrusting Carter was even greener.

“What, uh, were you doing out here?” Dwight asked, breaking the silence. 

It ate at him a little. Evan was far from his realm, tucked closer to Lisa’s nook than even the Institute. And even though Evan was helping, he didn’t seem the type to make a mission out of it. Or maybe he was, and Dwight was being too judgemental. But Evan paused, only to glance over his shoulder, and didn’t say anything. 

Dwight backed up, cocking his head. “You’re scaring me a little.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Evan snapped out of it. “It doesn't matter. Just visiting a realm out here. I’m taking you to the camp then coming back.” He turned, but Dwight realized he was uncomfortable. How odd. He kept pushing. 

“Are you sure I can trust you? You’re acting weird.” 

“I’m not. I just want to get you out of here-”

“You’re being loud. Rushing.” 

Evan was quiet. Dwight took another step back. The killer’s head shook, annoyed. “I was going to spare you the worry, you little shit. But I was actually here to find one of the survivors. They went missing just after you did. I think they’re in Danny’s realm.” 

The one at the camp, the one that almost grabbed him during their party-

“What? Who does he have!? And why do you care?” Dwight asked in a flurry, confused and scared all at once. “And where are they?” 

“Calm it down, this is why- never mind. I’m getting you to camp and coming back myself. Alright?” 

“Why do you care?” Dwight pushed, wanting to know who, but a terrible feeling was growing in his gut. Evan wasn’t telling him for a reason. It had to be one of his friends. And Evan had personally seen him close to only one survivor. 

“It’s Jake,” he breathed out. 

“Yeah. It’s a damned saboteur. Normally, I’d let the rat suffer. But-” he paused. “I felt bad  leaving him, knowing he got you away from Carter.”

“Evan,” Dwight stressed. “ Why? You were going to butcher him before you saw me with him.”

 “I wasn’t really going to,” Evan snorted. “I might have cut him a little, just to scare him off, but I don’t like bodies on my land when they’re not needed. The bear-traps usually do enough to keep my peace…” he paused, then relented in his hesitation. 

“And he helped you. It might sound odd, but you reminded me a lot of myself when I was young.” Evan paused, thinking of the right words. 

“Carter reminds me of my old man a bit too much. When I see how he treats you, it makes me sick. Makes me angry. But I always ignored it. I regret that now. It feels like letting my father win.” Evan paused in his rambling, looking up at the dark sky and the canopy beneath. He let out a soft, regretful laugh. 

“Carter will never own me again,” Dwight promised, both to himself and to the killer. 

Evan nodded, his second breath of laughter a lot less mournful. “We’ll see that you do. That means we go to the campfire-”

“But I can’t leave Jake. He could be being tortured right now! And like you said, we can’t let people like Carter just use us! Jake helped me so I have to help him.” 

“A little altruistic for my tastes,” Evan muttered. “But fine. I was just going to kill Danny and look around, but I can distract them while you snoop. Gives you longer to look before he’s brought back. Might be nothing, but it’s the last place Jake was seen heading.” 

“I’m right behind you,” Dwight nodded firmly. 

The territory was only twenty minutes in a straight line. Evan had to grab Dwight, lifting him back to his feet several times as he wobbled along. Dwight forced his tired limbs to remain a bit more steady. He had to be strong for Jake. If Evan was trusting him to help, he had to be able to do so. 

When they stopped at the edge of the tree line, he had kept a steady breathing tempo and his mind firmly on the goal at hand. Evan pointed to the side of the field, where the tree thinned out among some wooden walls awkwardly sticking from the grass. 

“Go around that way and head inside from there. Don’t go inside until you see me engage Danny. You got that?” 

“Got it!” 

“Go, then. Find the damned saboteur.” 

“I’ll make sure he knows you care,” Dwight said, unable to resist himself as he scurried off towards the walls. Evan just scoffed behind him before heading out of the bushes to walk straight forward. 

Dwight moved too, keeping in the trees for cover. Evan called out, banging on the lopsided metal doors. One popped open, a black figure slinking around the side, not fully coming out but engaging in conversation. Dwight couldn’t see them as anything but blurs but based on the fact they didn’t move, he figured now was his chance. 

Inside, it looked like a hotel lobby. Or maybe an apartment complex, lined with old patterned rugs and numbers aside the doors. Some having fallen off, and many hanging upside down, their gold paint now eroded with black spots.

Room after room, Dwight checked. Most were empty save moldy mattresses and broken tables among cobwebs and rubble. A few rooms were obviously well-used - a redroom, a place for storage (random trinkets and well-kept junk), and a space that looked like a real apartment filled with duct-taped furniture, half-made bed and a bookshelf with journals. He eyed the camera sitting reverently on the desk, tucked in the built-in cupboards and surrounded by photos. He couldn’t see the details from this far, and he didn’t want to. He shut the door and continued through to the second floor. 

Nothing. 

Dwight was getting beyond frustrated. Normally, he felt like falling to his knees and crying in defeat when things got hopeless. But now, he felt like punching the wall. He was forced to calm his breathing before he could think clearly. A thought popped into his head. He hadn't checked if there was a way underground. It had him looking back through some of the bottom rooms, and upon inspecting the storage again, found a hatch.  

Dwight hurriedly pulled at it. It was heavy. With only one hand, it took him several heaves to push it far enough up. It fell back. He flinched at the loud bang as it hit the concrete floor. Dwight wasted no time scrambling down the metal ladder into the cold dark. 

It was hard to breathe. The air was thin, suffocating, reeking of decay. He covered his nose as he crept forward, feet splashing through a thin layer of water, the noise ricocheting off the stone tunnel. Above it, he heard the distinct intake of struggling breaths. Not his own. 

He paused, looked over his shoulder, and raised a hand to explore around him. 

A door was blended into the wall, so seamless he almost missed it. The handle was heavy in his grip, refusing to budge the first few tugs. The door opened with a squeal and the breathing got more rapid, panicked. 

“Jake? It’s me, it’s Dwight,” he said, stepping into the dark.

 There was a shape before him, but he couldn’t see it properly. The shape squirmed, and he realized the blur indeed was Jake, his arms strung up, restrained and his feet just barely touching the floor. It was too dark to see his state, but as he stepped forward at the now groaning figure, his mouth obviously gagged, Dwight saw red. 

Red soaking down to the floor and table of tools laid out beside him. Jake was limp, covered in wounds, jacket gone and his shirt pinned to his skin by several small knives still embedded in flesh. Dwight reached up with shaky hands and undid the rag around his head. 

“Oh god, Jake, oh- I have to get you out-”

“Dwight! We’ve been looking for you,” Jake said, voice pained and thin. 

Dwight shook his head in disbelief. He grabbed at the table until his hands found a knife. He started to cut at the bindings on his tippy-toes, grateful to find that it was rope. Jake fell into his arms, limp. Dwight’s arms slid under his armpits, holding him up, his one good hand petting through Jake’s sweaty, bloody hair. 

“Jake, we have to get you out of here. We’re going home,” Dwight said, holding him tight. “Can… can you walk?” He feared the other option. Maybe it was cruel to ask Jake to move, to endure the wounds, but he couldn’t kill him. Jake didn’t bring death up either, hugging him back just as tight. 

“Yeah… fuck, yeah. That bastard… thank you. He was going to keep me alive all season…” 

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Dwight promised, helping him to his feet, supporting his full weight. 

He was careful of the knives sticking from his chest and ribs, but Jake grabbed one and yanked. He grunted, pain mixing with relief. Dwight winced at each pull and splatter of blood, thin lines of red painting the dried black spots around them. Jake let them clatter to the ground, head down, taking a shuddering breath when it was over. 

“O-okay… Okay,” Jake whispered. He stood straight, no longer trembling, but still using Dwight as support. “I should be good. Fuck, that was killing me.” He stared at the knives, and Dwight quickly turned his head away, ushering him to the door. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Please.”

The ladder was difficult for both of them. Dwight had offered to go behind him, and Jake paused at the sight of his missing hand. Dwight shook his head before he could say anything. 

“I’m okay. I’ll explain when we’re out of here.”

Jake just nodded, wincing as he turned to slowly hobble up the ladder. He still seemed out of it, a glassy look filming over his eyes. It grew more intense every few minutes, before he faded back to some clarity. Luckily, they made it up the ladder, both heaving themselves to the bottom level of the hellish apartment building. 

Dwight rolled up, wasting no time to shoulder back all of Jake’s weight. Just before they reached the front door, it swung open. Both stiffened, Jake latching onto Dwight in a steel grip, his breath hitching. But it was only Evan. Jake’s look of horror flinched into mild fear, and he started to tug Dwight away. 

“No, it’s okay He’s with me, he got me in here,” Dwight said. Jake paused, looking Evan up and down. But from their last encounter, it seemed enough to convince him to step back to Dwight’s side. Evan was coated in blood. Dwight realized this as he stepped forward, his cleaver still dripping in it. 

“I knew it,” Evan said, wiping his weapon’s blade along his arm. 

The blood welled together as it was wiped clean, dripping to the concrete like syrup. Dwight tried not to look at it. It was not the feeling of disgust he felt towards gore. It was the lack of the feeling that made him look away, uncomfortable with how indifferent the sight made him feel. Ghostface deserved what he got, he thought. 

“You killed him?” Jake asked. 

“Yeah. Now let’s go. Unless you wanna be killed,” Evan noted, raising his cleaver in offering. “It’s a long walk.” 

“No. I want to stay with Dwight, see that he gets back.”

“You could meet us halfway, fully healed,” Evan reasoned. 

“No. Too many killers at the border. I can be used as a distraction if it comes down to it,” Jake reasoned back, and Dwight jumped at the idea in horror. 

“What? No way are you being bait!” 

“It’s not a bad idea, Dwight. He can go back to the fire. You might not. You’re Carter’s, remember?” 

Anger filled Dwight. “No! No, I’m not!” 

“You are according to the Entity,” Evan said, voice hard but not harsh. “If you want to get away from him, you have to let others make sacrifices for you. You have to let them help.” 

“Uh, Trapper is making a lot of sense,” Jake said, as if dumbfounded. 

“I’m not a mindless monster,” Evan said, turning to walk out the doors. “Now come on. And keep up or I’m killing you anyway.”

Jake stood straighter, cracking a weak smile. He looked at Dwight as they stumbled forward. “He’s right, you know. I know it’s hard. But you’d die for me too. So let me help.” 

Dwight nodded, slow but growing more certain as he mulled over the words. It felt… nice, to have someone he truly trusted to protect him. To take the fall where he was too weak too at the moment, or unable. And he took comfort in the fact that he would do the same for Jake in the heartbeat. 

The only way he could repay the favor was making it back to the fire alive. They limped out of the building, trailing past a bloody black garb on the ground, its white mask crushed into bone and brain. It sat in a lump several feet from the body. Dwight looked away, glad he couldn’t see all the fine details. 

Jake spit in its direction and they carried on. 

 

Chapter 13

Trapper’s pace was brisk. He kept ahead of them, while Dwight helped a bloody Jake. The survivor leaned heavily into his shoulder, grip tight, occasionally sucking in a breath of harsh pain. 

Dwight hated that his friend had to endure, but despite the extensive injuries, Jake powered through the pain really well. That came with surviving countless trials, Dwight thought dryly, wondering if he too would get the chance to experience them. It felt like a faraway idea, as if he’d never get back to the campfire, never become a real survivor. Even when following behind the powerful, lumbering form of their escort. It felt like something would happen, a simple snag in existence that would send Dwight flying back into his old, miserable existence. Life worked itself out that way, or at least, that’s the pattern he picked up on. 

They passed through a few realms with relative ease, Evan keeping to the edge of the boundary line, or when that wasn’t possible, taking shortcuts through the twisted buildings and settings, as if memorizing the direct routes a socially-anxious person might map out, all intended to stay hidden and be quickly out of the way. It wasn’t until they reached a dark river, its black waters churning like oil along the bank, did the trio find themselves with company. 

Movement shifted the foliage on the other side of the waters. Dwight had stiffened, hugging Jake close and tugging him behind himself. Jake tried to push past him, but groaned in pain, letting Dwight keep the protective stance. Ahead, Evan stood his ground and brandished his cleaver - a clear warning to whoever crossed their path. The bushes parted, and a few figures stepped out, pausing in surprise at their little group. 

“No way, Dwight! Jake!” Elodie ran ahead of Felix and Kate, splashing through the dark waters. When she saw the state of Jake, she stopped short. “Jake, oh God, what happened?” 

“Nothing to worry about,” he waved her off, a weak smile on his lips. “Dwight and Trapper helped me out.”

“I’m so glad you’re both okay,” she said, pausing when she saw Dwight’s missing hand. “Well, you’re alive. Thank God for that,” she sighed, drawing them in for a hug. Jake winced, but patted her on the back, telling her he was happy to see her too. Elodie looked up at Trapper, grinning. 

“Thank you. For helping them.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Evan turned away, as the other survivors splashed onto their side, as if to give them privacy and eject himself from their little reunion. Kate enveloped herself in the group hug, saying how worried she was and how stupid Jake was for going off on his own. Felix stood awkwardly to the side, asking if Jake was okay to keep walking. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jake shrugged off his worries, as well as Kate. Kate, though, bounced off him with little reluctance, running back to splash across the river. 

“Hey! Caleb!” she shouted. 

Evan winced, probably about to shout at her to keep it down, but Dwight perked up, staring across the river as Kate eagerly pulled a bewildered cowboy from the bushes, rifle up as if thinking Kate were shouting for help. He stopped short, and Dwight felt a grin break out across his own face as they locked eyes. Jake rolled his eyes, holding his own small smile, and shoved Dwight forward. 

“Go on, you waited long enough,” he teased. 

Dwight didn’t need to be told twice. He walked forward, then ran, meeting Caleb halfway as the killer sloshed through the waters. He grabbed Dwight at the edge of the bank, gathering him in a hug and holding him close. 

“I’m sorry, Dwight,” he said. “I don’t know how they got through or how I didn’t-” 

“It’s okay, Caleb,” Dwight looked up, grabbing at Caleb’s face and giving him a brief kiss. He smiled into a second one on his rugged cheek. “I’m okay. I’ll explain everything, I just-” 

Dwight didn’t want to out Vittorio yet. If he was branded a traitor now, he would be one for the rest of his life in this already hellish realm. It would drive him closer to the Knight. Dwight hoped Vittorio would be able to free himself from whatever prison he was in. He hoped that the red pustula would give him that push to make the right choice. Dwight felt Vittorio deserved that much. 

“I’m just so happy to see you. I missed you,” Dwight said instead, all too content to just sit in Caleb’s arms. “I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too. I shoulda’ known you’d find your way back. You’re a survivor at heart.”

Caleb’s voice was smaller than Dwight had ever heard it - scared. Like Dwight was important, like he was scared he’d lost someone valuable. It made Dwight's heart clench, and he stole another kiss. Someone cleared their throat behind them, and they turned. Dwight awkwardly chuckled at Evan’s rigid stance, and the survivors teasing grins. 

“Come on, love birds,” Kate cooed as she skipped past them, boots sloshing in the river. “Let’s get you two home.” 

Behind, Felix and Elodie helped Jake along. He shoved at them, feigning that he was fine, but eventually had to accept their help when he nearly fell in the water. Evan marched behind ahead of everyone, still stiff as a board. 

Caleb's arm looped around Dwight’s shoulder, helping him along, and Dwight found himself beaming under the attention as Caleb fussed with his sweater and pulled out twigs and leaves from his hair. He promised to properly wrap his wounds when they got back. But they didn’t get far. The river was still in view behind them when the crows went silent. 

Caleb’s grip tightened suddenly, and he drew Dwight to his side tightly, calling out to Evan up ahead. But the other killer had already stopped, head turning slightly as if listening. He looked at the survivors and ordered them back. 

“Stay between me and Quinn,” he ordered, moving backwards, his cleaver out and ready. Jake grit his teeth as he was ushered backwards. Caleb gave Dwight a quick squeeze on the shoulder and urged him over to the others. 

“Keep right behind me,” Caleb said, voice deathly serious, a cold calm taking over his features as he raised his rifle towards the forest edge, sensing something Dwight did not. 

He stumbled over to Jake, Kate and Elodie. They huddled close, scanning the trees. It was absolutely quiet. A few seconds passed, tense as a fraying cord, when a crow broke it far above their heads with a caw. With the shattering of silence, all hell broke loose. 

Evan lunged forward, tackling a figure as they lurched at Elodie. She screamed and backpedaled, while Trapper’s cleaver hooked onto the side of the Pig’s knife. The Pig was shoved backwards, but behind her, the bushes parted and Evan was immediately swarmed by a smaller body. Ghostface’s knife flashed in and out of Evan’s flesh, tearing in wild abandon as the Pig joined the fray, slashing and stabbing in tandem. Ghost face seemed especially frenzied, screaming about his prey being taken and Evan ruining his fun.

Meanwhile, Elodie was on the ground with Kate, rolling out of the way of Wesker - the killer raising a tentacle-coated arm to kill them. Jake jumped him, but the killer easily threw him off. He fell over, body seizing as his wounds flared. Felix tried to help him, but Wekser turned his tentacle, quickly cutting through Jake’s neck and killing him. Dwight shouted, running forward, stopping short as he saw movement behind him. He shouted a warning. 

Caleb raised his rifle to take a shot, turning at the warning as a fourth killer - Krueger - ambushed him from behind. At the same moment, Wesker buried an ouroboros tentacle in Elodie’s gut, just as Caleb’s shot missed and the Nightmare tried to stab him. 

Dwight screamed, blood splattering across his face as Caleb caught the finger blades in his side. He struck the Nightmare across the face with his rifle butt, and tried to take aim again as the killer was forced backwards. He shot, missed, and the two killers danced around each other while Dwight scrambled further back into the chaos. 

It happened so fast. Evan grunted, and Dwight turned just in time to see him fall to his knees. Ghostface and The Pig were filling his neck with holes, knives soaked bloody and fervent in their punctures. Felix had attacked Wesker, trying to save an already wounded Elodie. He was killed with a tentacle in the face, the crack of skull loud and abrupt, his body dropping to the ground in a heap. Kate screamed and tried to attack Wesker, with nothing but trembling fists and a face of uncharacteristic rage. Wesker raised an arm, wasting little time in dropping her to the ground too.

 Dwight found himself staring up at those dark sunglasses, his own terrified reflection looking back at him as the killer smirked and stepped forward. The Pig and Ghostface were approaching too. Luckily, Caleb pulled his bayonet from the Nightmare’s stomach, shoving his limp body away before grabbing Dwight and jerking him behind him, gun raised and face set in fierce determination. Wesker snorted, while the other two fanned out beside him, corralling their prey in. 

“Come on, Caleb,” Wesker smirked, wiping blood from his hand. “You’re being selfish here.”

“Turn around and get the fuck outta here,” Caleb growled. “You’re chasin’ a fantasy, Wesker. You know as well as I do, Carter ain’t got nothin’ but tricks in his bag.” 

“You weren’t there. He’s not bluffing. You know as well as I do, this season has been different than the others. I’m not about to let this chance escape me.” 

“Sorry, lover boy,” The Pig said, voice like that of a sneer. Dwight hated the dead eyes set in that pig skull, hated the visceral gore that dripped from its cut neck. “But we’re not staying in this hell any longer.”

“You can come with us, or you can stay here and rot,” Ghostface added, knife spinning through his fingers carelessly. “Your choice.” 

Caleb hesitated, then caught Dwight’s eye, and Dwight felt the plea residing in there. Run, it said, and Dwight felt his body coil in cold anticipation before the gun went off. The chain sunk into Wesker’s side. Ghostface and the Pig lunged forward, passed the bloody chain, while Dwight made a run for it. 

Behind, Caleb tried to keep them from pursuing him, striking with his rifle before dropping the weapon entirely when Wesker grabbed and yanked on the chain, pulling it free of his flesh. Dwight heard Caleb grunt in pain as he disappeared through the bushes. It made his heart hurt, clenched with grief and fear and the bloody images of his friends all falling one by one. It happened so fast. 

Hadn’t they been joking around laughing, just minutes ago? What the fuck just happened?!

He heard the crack of bone and the splitting of flesh. Dwight ducked his head, running through blurry branches and foliage as he blindly tried to get away. He felt a terrible guilt for leaving Caleb, knowing he wouldn’t survive. He couldn’t unsee Jake getting his neck cut open, or Elodie’s innards sliced free. They would appear back in the realm, stitched together with flowing blood and beating hearts. He had to tell himself that, even while he was running for his own life. 

“Come here, little rab lat!” The Pig’s voice floated behind, distant but quickly rising as she caught up. Other footsteps pounded alongside hers. Dwight’s lungs ached. His one good hand clung to the trees, shoving him forward as he tripped over branches and roots he could barely see. When the footsteps ran up close enough to hear the crack of twigs, Dwight tripped. His heart felt like it stopped as he hit the ground, curling up as the Pig jumped him, red knife poised over his head. Two bodies ran up behind her. 

“Oh shit, finally! We’re gonna get the fuck outta here!” Ghostface preened, nearly toppling into the Pig in his excitement. She shoved him away, then grabbed Dwight by the shirt collar. He yelped as he was yanked to his feet. 

“I can’t fathom why the Doctor wants him,” Wesker mused, reflecting the Pig’s disgust as he looked Dwight up and down. It felt like he was a bug, pinned under glass. 

“Who cares? As long as the freak gets what he wants, we get what we want. Let’s go!” Ghostface complained, jumping around like a child. “Oh man, I can’t wait to hit up my favorite pizza place! No fingernails or eyes in the goddamn fucking cheese.” 

“Yeah, pizza. Dreamin’ big, Danny…” 

The Pig sounded like she rolled her eyes. She shoved Dwight forward. His legs moved, numb and shaky. He stared at the blurry ground, feeling completely out of his own body, as he was marched back to his old hell. 

---

The Institute loomed over the forest. It looked so much more threatening than he remembered. Dwight shook as he was pushed onward, the killers growing more antsy the closer they got. Ghostface kept rattling on about what he’d do once he escaped. The Pig told him to shut up several times. Wesker kept a stony-face, brisk swift as he pointedly ignored the others. Dwight dug his heels in a little at the sight of the Doctor’s home. 

The Pig shoved his shoulder, barking at him to keep it moving. Dwight gulped, and forced his legs to keep pace as they delved into the building’s shadow. He stared up at the huge double doors. Wesker pounded on one of them, the sound was alarmingly loud, scraping like knives against his eardrums. Dwight trembled as they waited. 

When the doors swung open, they creaked, and bright blue eyes, peeled back in a horrifying metal apparatus, erratically darting between the killers before landing on him. Dwight froze, unable to catch a breath as electricity buzzed in the air, so thick it nearly made his knees buckle. 

He felt the Pig’s grip on his shoulder clench, the static filtering through her too. But her grip disappeared as Dr. Carter grabbed him by the collar of his sweater and jerked him forward into a hug. The electricity shot through him and he groaned in pain, limbs locking up. The Doctor took a shuddering breath above him, then stood, a hand firmly taking a hold of his arm and keeping him close to his side. 

Dwight’s lungs quaked, sucking in some oxygen as the Doctor’s attention fell back on the killers. He had expected to be beaten right on the spot, or at least threatened with later punishment. His grip was bruising though, and Dwight bit his lip, figuring he’d be tortured later. 

“You three. Follow me,” The Doctor said, voice thin and giddy, a lot more manic than the last time Dwight had seen him. 

The killers had been watching in mild confusion, especially Wesker, whose face was pinched in thinly veiled disgust. He cleared his throat as he followed. Dr. Carter tugged Dwight along. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even acknowledge him as they set down the hall towards his lab. It made everything worse. Dwight would rather be beaten now than later. Just get it over with and be done with it. Kill him and make him regenerate, Dwight didn’t care anymore.

He especially despised the audience behind them, ears burning at their witness to the odd exchange. Wekser obviously didn’t understand the value that the Doctor saw in him. Neither did Dwight. Before, the thought would make him feel worthless. Now, it only made him angry. Dr. Carter saw him as nothing but an object, a possession, just like his many tools and experiments. The survivors saw his worth as a person, as a friend, no matter what value they thought he had. They liked him for him. 

Dwight struggled not to pull his arm away, to shout and run and fight back. He took a breath, recognizing the entry hall into the lab. He’d have to bid his time. When Dr. Carter was distracted, he could escape. He knew the Institute like the back of his hand. Until then, he grit his teeth, hating the fingers digging into his flesh, hating being led around, hating the constant static leaping up his limb. 

The killers fanned out in the wide room. Dwight was shocked to see it in disarray, filled with all kinds of projects, cluttered tables and spills over the counters. Dr. Carter was a maniac when it came to cleanliness (as clean as one could be in the realm), always paranoid he’d contaminate his current project, always striving for the best results… Dwight felt uneasy walking through the mess. He heard Ghostface snicker. 

“So, Doc…” he started, a big smile behind his mask. “How’ve you been?” 

Dr. Carter ignored the killer. He walked to the back wall, and Dwight grabbed at the Doctor’s wrist in sudden panic, looking back and forth between him and the exit. There was a chain bolted into the wall, a manacle on the ground, haphazardly waiting for his arrival. He wasn’t getting away with that thing on him. But Dr. Carter’s static flushed through his system. He seized up, biting his tongue, drawing blood, and felt the chain snap onto his ankle. 

Dr. Carter knelt down, electricity slowly retreating from Dwight’s body, as his face was clamped in a painful grip. He glared up at the Doctor, his fear muted, humiliation and anger fighting between each other. 

“I don’t blame you for running.” Dr. Carter said between his peeled lips. Dwight’s blood went cold with shock. Those were the last words he thought he’d ever hear this killer utter. “I haven’t been treating you like a proper assistant, giving you credit for the progress you’ve helped me achieve.” - Dwight recalled all the pain and horror, at his body changing, tearing, turning to bloody mush- “I haven’t been teaching you as I should. After this, I’ll explain what I expect. But right now, I need you to sit and watch. Do you understand, Dwight?” 

He nodded, as well as he could with the grip on his jaw. He worked out the soreness when the Doctor let go. The Doctor snapped upright and turned to grin at the three killers like he hadn’t been blatantly ignoring them. All three were standing awkwardly, looking anywhere but him. When he turned though, Wesker coughed into his fist and gained the other two’s attention. 

“So… We’ve completed our end of the deal,” the man began. “You need to complete yours.”

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Carter laughed, as if Wesker were silly for even bringing it up. “I simply need a sample each of your blood.” 

“Do you now?” The Pig asked, arms crossed. “When you showed us the portal, you just made it happen-” 

Dr. Carter held up a finger as he shifted through his clutter, grabbing syringes and vials. “If you want to go to your correct timeline, I need blood. Otherwise, you’ll end up in my old world, and it’s not a place you want to end up, alone and acting delusional.”

“If it gets me home,” Ghostface said, holding out his arm and peeling back the black sleeve. He slapped the crook of his elbow. “Go at it, Doc!” 

“This better not be a trick, Carter,” Wesker warned. 

“I assure you, it is all a necessity.”

The Doctor flicked the needle, grabbing Ghostface’s arm and roughly jabbing it into vein. He barely looked, but it was precise and accurate, the blood flowing into the vial as the plunger pulled up. Ghostface groaned, the needle from an age when they were basically giant metal tubes. Dwight hated them too, but had gotten used to the burn. He watched the three vials fill up, the blood set aside, as Dr. Carter taped and labeled them. Then he turned, grinning widely, and gestured to the three killers. 

“So, who is the lucky one to leave this realm?” Dr. Carter asked. The air thickened with immediate tension. The killers looked at one another, then to the Doctor. 

“You’re saying only one of us gets the reward?” Wesker asked, voice flat, probably expecting this from the crazed man. 

“Well, the ingredient is very rare. Unfortunately, I have enough for only one portal,” he said, sounding very unapologetic. “I’m sure you can figure it out amongst yourselves?”

“Hey, that’s not fair-” Ghostface choked on his words as The Pig suddenly unsheathed her blade, stabbing him in the side and then immediately going for Wesker. But the man had retracted a tentacle, darting backwards and dodging her swipe. Ghostface growled and pulled out his knife, lunging forward, but the Pig sidestepped him and kicked him at Wesker. 

Dwight watched the whole thing, startled by the sudden fight. The Doctor would never allow this kind of carnage to happen in his lab. At least, the old one wouldn’t. This doctor watched in rapt amusement, hands clasped behind his back, stepping calmly away as the fight got more violent. It felt odd. Dwight wasn’t sure what to expect anymore. 

Wesker pulled a tentacle free of Ghostface’s neck, tossing the body as the Pig tried to stab at him. She was kicked into the floor, turning onto her back as Wesker straddled her and tried to choke her to death. She tried to stab his stomach, but a tentacle snatched her wrist. Dwight turned away, not reveling in the violence like the Doctor. 

He heard a sharp smack and tearing flesh, then Wesker’s hiss. He looked in surprise, watching the Pig gain the upperhand, slashing at the tentacle and then Wesker’s face, just barely managing to catch his cheek. He turned away again, wincing at the repeating stabbing sounds, the crunch of bone and the eventual cease of the struggle. The Pig stood, wiped the gore from her blade, and turned to the Doctor with a limp in her gait. 

“I won,” she stated, breathing harshly. 

“So you did,” Dr. Carter quipped. 

He reached into his lab coat pocket, retrieving a small vial of bright green serum. He grabbed the Pig’s vial of blood, and carefully poured it into the green pustula mixture. It turned a muddy red. The Doctor capped it and held it up to the light, studying it for the moment before the Pig’s impatient grunt had him moving again. 

“Excuse me. It’s such a marvelous achievement, I simply wanted to admire it. As I said, it’s very rare. I doubt I’ll get more until next season.” 

“Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?” 

“No, it’s not.” Dr. Carter tossed the vial between them. 

It shattered on the ground, and the glass vanished in a whirlpool of green light. Dwight blinked against it, the harsh glow stinging his eyes. He could make out distorted shapes between the ripples - buildings, streets, dark rooms filled with chains and blades. The Pig stepped forward, as if in a trance, leaning forward to study the images. 

She reached up, hands slightly shaking, and pulled the pig head free. It came off, tossed carelessly to the floor. A woman, with short black hair and a face smeared in blood, stared in awe at the portal. Then she was gone, stepping into it and dropping like a stone. The portal stayed for only a few more seconds, before swallowing itself and disappearing. 

And with it, Dwight was left alone with The Doctor.