Chapter Text
For the first time in a long time, Michelle wakes up in a cold sweat, head pounding from the nightmare. Bryan hasn't moved from beside her, and he’s cold. Quietly she moves herself free of his arms – locked tight around her, and heads to go start up the kettle. It's mid afternoon– an odd time to wake up. But she doubts Bryan will fully open his eyes for more than a few minutes until the next day, always a heavy sleeper especially after he’d lost so many hours like this. How, she still didn't know. Did she want to know?
Maybe. She’d have to know. She wanted to know, to figure out how to help him. Her Bryan.
Figure out how he got the snakelike scars and the blood and an explanation for that voicemail from the Fenner’s phone that had caught fast in her mind, sticking to her thoughts like a note. Hearing that, she'd thought that she wouldn't see him ever come home.
It takes her a while to notice when the kettle is boiling. Katie’s taste in tea is pretty minimalist, but she manages to find some she’d kept for other people, like Michelle. Or Bryan.
She clicks it off with a hand and pours the scalding water, dropping in the teabag. For Bryan, if he gets semi-conscious.
For herself, she finds a small orange in the fridge. Michelle hasn't nearly done enough research on what to eat when pregnant, or any idea of what she can keep down easily. An orange seems kind of unlikely, but there's not many options in the fridge. Plus, she's not really hungry anyways.
Katie had come home a few hours ago, and she’d quietly left Bryan to try to explain the best she could about everything to Katie. She was still pissed, but had taken the job of cleaning up the foyer, then had promptly left the house again, leaving it to them. Katie had never liked Bryan, and it's not like they could really head back to their shared apartment on evacuation alert. No less.. would Bryan even be able to be taken that far? She was too worried about him. Too worried. She peels the baby orange with a hand, glancing at the ceiling. There's a thud.
What would Bryan be doing right now? Still asleep?
She listens for a moment, placing the orange on the counter. Nothing. He must be sleeping, still.
Was it even worth it to make the tea? Which is certainly steeped by now.
It's worth it enough to her to go upstairs and see.
She takes the mug with the tea, chewing on a bit of orange, as she walks back upstairs. The sun that shines through the front of the house is a sight that warms her, after all the dark.
The floor creaks as she steps down the hall, and she can see Bryan’s form shift a little as she heads closer. He’s asleep, still. Somehow.
The mug and rest of the orange she places on the nightstand, on top of a little crocheted coaster.
“Bryan?” She slips a gentle hand over his face, pushing a few stray hairs out of his eyes.
He turns his head, making a little groan. His eyebrows knit together, and slowly he starts to squint at her.
“.. ‘chelle?” Bryan asks. His eyes almost look normal again.
She holds the mug in her free hand. “Hi, babe. I made you some tea?” She offers.
He's silent for a moment, staring up at her. Michelle holds the tea, waiting.
Then he reaches out a shaky hand, propping himself up.
“Th–” He pauses. “Thanks, Mich.” He says, taking the warm mug with both hands.
She sits down beside him. “Yeah. Figured that a nice tea would help you. You were shivering, in your sleep.” Michelle murmurs.
Bryan blinks. “I was?” His face drops, and he looks so tired. Instantly, she drops it. Bryan has always been like this, craving care but all too guilty when he receives it.
“Yeah. It's no big deal.” She comforts.
His gaze wanders as he takes a sip of his tea. Michelle tries not to notice how his hands tighten around the mug, holding it tight. Has he even processed everything that's happened?
Probably not. She hasn't, either.
When he looks back at her, she doesn't mention how his irises look webbed around the pupil. Slicing through the way a flashlight pokes through from under a sheet. The colour is hidden, but obvious.
It makes her skin crawl.
Michelle blinks, and leans back on her palms. She focuses on Bryan’s hair. Not his face. It looks the same, really. Dirty blonde– or a lighter brown, depending on the way he turned it in the light. Still him. Still her Bryan.
“Feeling.. any better? At all?”
Bryan makes a quiet, amused huff. “Of course. Now that I’m with you.” He gives her a flash of what could almost be a smile. Almost.
She avoids looking into his eyes this time.
“Need anything else?” Michelle asks. “Hungry?”
Has Bryan eaten at all? Would he be able to hold anything down? Can he eat.. like.. can whatever this thing is. Is it still Bryan?
Tentatively, she reaches out a hand to place on his shoulder. He flinches instantly, eyes widening.
His tea sloshes, spilling all over Bryan’s raggedy tee. It's not what Michelle really notices, though.
Instead, it's the animal look on his face. Almost uncanny. It could be the light, but.. that's. Not him. Not those eyes that are too weird, too predatory, not the sharp teeth and the jaw that almost seems to hinge with the sudden shock, the same way she's seen those snakes on nature documentaries do when they swallow their prey. And not with the way his whole face looks like it's trying to melt right off and the shapes of what might just be eyes, popping into view around his temple.
This thing– not Bryan is already muttering apologies but she's already running out of the room, trying to dart to anyplace safe before something long and slimy curls around one of her calves.
“Michelle.” It calls. A voice all too low and too monstrous and mixed all too much with Bryan’s nasally, pleading tone. Michelle feels sick.
She refuses to look back or down, trying her hardest to pull the fleshy thing off of her leg. It just curls tighter, pain like a lance around her calf, and she screams.
Instantly, it lets go with a sickening cacophony of pops. She runs away– to any area, any room, she can think of that is safer than up here. The thing that isn't Bryan is injured. Can't walk.
The basement.
Michelle runs down the stairs taking two at a time, trying not to fall as she clings to the bannister for dear life. As soon as she skips past Katie’s foyer she runs to the basement door, flicking on the dying bulb and locking it as soon as it closes shut behind her. Instantly, it's so dim she has to squint.
Michelle mostly relies on her instinct now, carefully, quickly taking the wooden stairs down to the drafty, pitch-black basement. Even in her plaid pajama pants and her own tee, the basement is freezing. The moment she steps on the cold stone floor it feels as if all the warmth has been sucked out of her. Shit, shit, shit. Her mind races.
It's all she can do to find a corner in the dark– the light up the stairs above the basement door is the only thing she can see,– and finds a wall to huddle against, snug between shelving and storage.
She doesn't think of herself as much of a runner. That was Bryan’s problem, not hers, she’d say. But what had she done? Run for her life. From something who she couldn't tell was Bryan or not, something that had spooked her to the bone and left a cold, anxious dread in her body.
“That.. wasn't Bryan.” Her voice is thin. Barely a whisper. It's all she can do to ground herself as her eyes stick to frantically looking to the basement door, wishing she had brought her phone or a knife or called Katie or–
There's a distant thud from upstairs. Her hands press hard against the concrete floor, trying to dig into any fractures as she digs her back in harder to the wall. Maybe there's something down here? Is there a window in this basement ? She could escape?
The thought seems mildly amusing. She barks out the tiniest laugh, even as tears spring to her eyes. Michelle shivers, regretting it instantly as she hears another thud.
A garbled voice calls her name, somewhere in the house. There's banging, clattering, coming from above.
She turns her head away from the door, fully pressing the side of her face against the wall– where she sits between a large shelf and a bunch of boxes, probably full of old holiday decorations. It takes her a moment to realize she's crying, scared shitless in the dark as the basement light putters out. She covers her mouth with a hand, biting down to quiet any sobs. She shouldn't be crying. Bryan must've been dead the moment he sent her that fucking voicemail. She doesn't cry. Won’t, rarely ever in front of Bryan. He's always been the crier.
But Michelle can't say she isn't crying as she sobs as quietly as she can, sitting petrified in the dark. Her tears burn against the coolness of her skin, hot to her shivering frame. Her shirt is damp.
Then all of a sudden the noises from upstairs stop, and she freezes, breath hitching on a sob. Her eyes dart to the stairs, but the light has finally gone out. This is it. And she can't help but sob harder into her hand, because, fuck, the basement door is shaking and Bryan’s gone and this thing has replaced him, clearly, some fucking experiment gone wrong and she's carrying a child the real Bryan, her Bryan, didn't even want and Katie’s house is a mess, Katie will be devastated, and that stupid fuck of a job he took after his normal shift is all for naught.
She doesn't even notice as the door creaks open. The house is dark. No light pours in. Her eyes are squeezed shut anyways. Michelle does her hardest not to listen as something oozes down the stairs like putty. The air feels wet the moment whatever it is enters the room. The orange she had earlier threatens to spill.
Something far warmer and more parasitic than she is touches her knee. She shrieks, waiting for it all to be over as her sobs have fallen silent. The thing she refuses to look at takes a laboured, sickly breath that sounds too much like one of Bryan’s little stressed laughs.
“Michelle?” It says, a surprisingly real mimic of his voice. But it's not him. It can't be, she's not falling for whatever delusion she has when this thing was at Katie's door. She keeps her eyes shut.
What could be a hand, too warm, graces her free one.
Then she hears a crack and the shift of something like an animal about to strike and she pushes herself out of the corner as fast as she humanely can, eyes flying wide as she tries to crawl away, staring in the pitch black as too many glowing, reflective things look back at her and stalk her every move. She reaches out for anything – cold fingers meet metal, and she bares it in front of her body like a weapon.
“Stay– the fuck back.” Michelle warns. Whatever she’s holding is so slippery in her sweaty palms. She doesn't have a chance.
There's a groaning noise. A whine, bubbling up from something that is the farthest from anything human she can think of.
“Baby.” It coos. She grips what she now assumes is a large handsaw, tighter. Who the fuck leaves a handsaw lying around in their basement? Katie. She points it towards the thing as she almost laughs at the thought of Katie. She’s sure a saw won’t do anything to the creature, but it means everything to her.
“Michelle.” The voice continues. She waves the saw around herself haphazardly. If she dies, at least she can get some nick on it.
“It’s me, baby. It's Bryan.”
She doesn't want to know how she can hear the smile in it's voice. Strained, obviously. It sounds all snotty, like it’s been tearing up.
‘Fuck you.’ Michelle tries to say. It comes out as a sob, and mentally, she swears. It's too hard to find the air to breathe when everything is so swampy, and the thing is so close and so loud–
Another limb reaches out, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
She flicks the saw up towards it and it slinks back.
It's quiet for a while. The monster continues to breathe and sigh, disgustingly.
Then she can hear teeth clack together as the thing speaks again. “Michelle. Michelle,” it whines. “Please.”
She makes no reply. It whines, low and feral. Michelle only now notices she's been holding her breath, and she feels lightheaded. The thing is moving closer– or is it moving away? Up, or down? Can she trust her senses? Is she even getting enough oxygen in her system when she can't even breathe, not in a situation like this. It's closing in on her and she tries to snap out of it to move to break free of the awful frozen state it's put her in, she's hardly even shivering now but the world, it dims to black.