Work Text:
Each of them had grown up with completely normal lives. No idea that the other existed and no idea as to what was going to happen that month; the month that would change their lives and the lives of millions of onlookers.
Noon, October 1st, 2016 was the first time that all five men began to realize that something was changing within them. Headaches, mood swings, spasms and twitches throughout their entire body, all of which happened to them on a near daily basis, rarely letting up and keeping them awake for hours at night. However, all took it as age beginning to creep up on them and went on as normal.
Halloween seemed like a perfectly normal day. Nothing at all out of the ordinary except the occasional headache. But what else was to be expected by the atmosphere of Halloween? Children squealing in delight as their bags were filled to the brim with candy; adults pretending to be interested in the costumes; teenagers trying their best to sneak more sweets than they were allowed; too much sugar for one to handle.
Chase Brody was somewhere in between all of these three ages. Happily eating candy to his heart’s content despite Stacy’s complaining. Kids were running up to him, asking him to join in their nerf battle wars, which he happily obliged to do. As he pretended to lay dead on the warm asphalt, a young first grader having shot him in the abdomen, he noticed his son helping his daughter get her ‘wings’ to flap by tugging on them gently, much to her delight. Chase let out a burst of barking laughter that drew them to him, eventually turning him into their bed.
Everything was amazing and perfect.
Henrik von Schneeplstein was bent over his operation table, and although the operation was going quite well, his hands were beginning to cramp and shake from stress. Drunkards who had stupidly gotten themselves injured doing ridiculous stunts were being brought in by the dozens, people with costume malfunctions seemed like they needed their own ward, and there were too many sick stomachs to count. But he was trying not to focus on them, keeping all his attention on the man lying before him. His assistant Peter had today off and had somehow gotten all of these ridiculous items in a moment where alcohol, marijuana and the human mind had gone wildly wrong.
But it was his job and he was more than capable of dealing with the amount of work he was being handed.
Marvin stood in front of his mirror, looking at the burn scars all across the upper part of his face. They had long-since healed but still… anytime he used his magic too much, the memory of the accident would flare up in his mind. Still, the children loved his magic, and that was enough for him to keep on performing. He gave his reflection a grin and pulled on his Halloween-themed cat mask, orange instead of white, with black and gold accents coming out of the ears and surrounding the eyes. His fingers sparked with a bit of warm-up magic and he sighed.
Time to put on a show.
Jackaboy Man was having a great night. He could walk around the city in-costume and not be asked for pictures, an autograph, or get yelled at for being a superhero/vigilante. Sure, there was the bully or two that he had to stop from taking another’s candy, or the crime Sam informed him of, but other than that, he was having a grand old time. Granted, he was an adult in full costume, but there were others his age or older dressed even more elaborate here and at places like Comic-Con. He smiled and thanked those who complimented him and ignored the glares of those who disliked him dressing up.
This was his night, and no one could take away the joy he felt at finally feeling slightly… normal.
Jameson Jackson celebrated alone this year, whittling away at another wood project. The ones he was most proud of had been hung up in the window in a creepy fashion and whenever someone stopped to admire them or stare at them in shock, he would wave to them before they left. It didn’t bother him; he couldn’t strike up a friendly conversation and he couldn’t give them any candy if they asked (he had eaten it all like the mature adult he was). Jameson blew off some scrap shavings from the project and set it down, stretching his limbs after hours of working on his passion projects.
Sure, he was alone, but he was doing what he loved and that made up for the emptiness.
All five men were alone just before noon that day. Chase in his kitchen, Henrik in the breakroom, Jameson in his home, Marvin backstage, and Jackie on the rooftop of an apartment building. Their headaches had begun to pop up more and more frequently, but they didn’t know that it would mean anything horrible would be coming in mere minutes.
They all heard the laughter at the same time, cold and spine-chilling. It reached out to them from the very backs of their minds, taunting them to try and fight what was coming. Not like they could- a headache came so quickly and so unexpectedly that they were brought to their knees, screaming bloody murder before they could blink.
Each of them felt the other’s pain over their own, paralyzing them as the image of a man filled their mind. He was sitting in front of a jack-o-lantern, staring at them with dead eyes as he dragged a knife across his own throat, a high pitched ringing filling the air. The image became broken and changed sporadically as the knife reached the end of his neck and the body dropped against his pumpkin. He lay there, motionless for nearly ten seconds before the other appeared, cackling and reaching out towards them.
“Help me!”
The world went dark and all five of them were faced with one another. All were aware of the fact that they shared the same physique as well as the fact that none shared a history. The Doctor, the Hero, the Father, the Magician, and the Puppet-Maker.
“Who are you?” they all asked. “Why do you look like me? What is happening?”
Another appeared in their midst, standing perfectly still until he raised his head and took a look at all of them with his maniacal grin and bleeding neck sending shivers down the others spines.
“Sǫ, ͠you͝'ŗe͟ ̵the on̢es ̶t̶h͞at̢ kee̛p ̛hi̶m̵ ̛al̡i̧ve ͘hưh͟?̷” the man said, the high-pitched whine cutting through the air like a hot knife. “I a͢l͘wa͟y͝s ̶h̛ated cats̸ ̧and th̸ęir nine ̵l̷ives a̷nywa͞y͡s.”
“Who are you?” Marvin called.
“I ͜woul̴dn't͘ worry abou̡t͏ t̡hat ̷n͟ow͜.͘” The man flashed him a glare that was subtly laced with worry. His form sputtered and for a second, they all saw him directly in front of the Magician, knife to his throat and hand reaching for his mask. But as soon as it happened, he had returned to his original spot, leaving all to catch their breath. “Does͞ it m̸a͜tte̛r who̸ ̸t͟he͏ murde̕rer̶ i̡s t̶o̵ the v҉i̕ctim͏ w̵h͢e͏n͝ the v͟ic̢ti͟m is̷ ͜dea̛d?”
“What’s going on?!” Chase cried.
The man turned to Chase, sensing his fear.
“Yo͝u a͡l͟l a̶re ͞conn̛ec͠t͝e̷ḑ ̕to s̴omethi͟ng mu͡ch̨ ̸big͞ge͝r͝ t͜h͞a̷n ҉yo͠ưrse̢l̡ve͞s. M͠u͠ch.͘ ͜Much͞,” he appeared in front of the Father, grinning, his left eye shining with bright green light, “B͞ig͞ger.”
Chase stumbled back a few steps as the man returned to the center.
“Who are you?!” Jackaboy Man yelled again.
“Ye̷l͠li̕n̴g̢ a͢g͡a̛in͘ won̛'t͏ m͠ak͡e me tel̸l͞,” the man taunted, “but ͠i͢f ͏yo͢u co̸m̵e͏ un͢ders̢ţand̶ ̢wh̢at͠ ̶is ̶go̸ing on̨,͜ p̧er͡haps͟ ͝you'l̷l͟ ̕fin͝d͠ ͝o͜ut͠,̡ l͡itt̕ļe͞ H͟ero.”
“You’re going to hunt us down, aren’t you,” Schneeplstein muttered.
The man looked at the Doctor and grinned.
“Y҉ǫu'r͠e̷ s̷m͜a͘r̴t. ̕I l͟įke t͠ha͏t.̕ I̛t̷'l͢l ͞ma͏ke ͠yo̢u͟r͡ ro͜l̢e ͝so ҉muc͜h̵ ͝m͜ore fun̕ to̕ ͘c͟u̕t̴ ͡out.̧” The man giggled, shooting him a wicked grin and then looked around as the void began to lighten.
“We̕ll,̵ ̛it ̸wa͡s ̵fun w͜hil͝e̕ i̵t ͟lasted͜.̡ ͟I̶t s̴eem͞s lįk͠e ͝the ͜lou̕d ͜ba̧stard͞ ̛ha͘s̡ b̡een f̶o͜und̛. No̡w re̸me͞m͏b͠e͟r͘,̛ ͡kidd͞ie̢s̴,̧ no͝w̨h̢ere is̕ ̵s̛a̛fe.͜ No̕t ̶even̵ ̨you͝r͏ ͞ow͜n h͢ea̧ds.҉ And ͟be̶for̡e ̷I͢ ͠go,̛ I͞ ͠m̨i͢g̢h͜t͝ ̨a̕s ̷w͞el͞l͘ ̶s͘tart͜ ̴th͜i̵s͡ gam̨e̛.”
Before any of them could react, the man appeared in front of Jameson, the only one who couldn’t scream even as the knife entered his abdomen.
“No!” The other four rushed forward to help this complete stranger, but as the light touched their outstretched hands, they were whisked back to their bodies.
“Y͡o͡u'͟ll ̶come in r̨e͏a͞l ͞handy̕, l͢ittle P͟uppe͞t͞-̕M̡aker.”
None were aware of the hands helping them to their feet. They could barely feel the phantom stabbing pain in their stomachs nor the burning line across their necks. They knew were only aware of two things, the first being that no matter the cost, they needed to find each other. They needed to save the others from suffering the same fate as their silent comrade.
And second, all they could hear was the static in their ears of the millions of voices crying out one name in fear.
A name that meant that death was coming and that they had better start running.
Ą͡n̡t̨͟į̡͝.