Chapter Text
It was another long day, but when wasn't it? It was September 12th, which meant that fall was just around the corner. The leaves were changing colors, the air was always cold, it always smelled like cinnamon or apples everywhere, coffee shops bustled more frequently, and it was always so nice out. Well, at least it was outside in the mornings and afternoons. As it grew darker, everybody was turning in for the night. Well, almost everybody. On 6798 Elm Street, that was a different story. A boy was trying to keep himself up. He had an empty can of Monster on his bed as he wore his earbuds. Quentin paced around the room, got a shower, drank some energy drinks, had some coffee, played his music, and did everything he could in his power to stay up. As ten turned to eleven, then eleven turned to midnight, Quentin was struggling to keep e his eyes open. As his eyelids grew heavier and his body practically sank into the mattress, the insomniac was soon asleep. Not that he wanted to be, but he really needed it. Despite his empty Zoneral pill bottle and the lack of Hypnocil that were propped up on his desk just across the room.
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1,2. Quentin was walking aimlessly towards Badham Preschool. This was the place that would forever change his life. This was where the nightmares started, and where 'the' nightmare started his rein of terror. It was the same nightmare every time, but he was always startled by it. No matter how many times it happens, he gets the same reaction driven out of him.
3, 4. The dreamwalker wiped the snow off the rotting sign before him. The snow was masking, merely sugar-coating the school entirely. Once the snow was wiped off, it grew dark. Well, it was already dark, but it felt a little more real now. The nightmare had more dimension to it in a sense. As he walked towards the door of the school, the snow crunched under his feet the whole way there. Once the door creaked up, he took a breather before stepping through. Through what could only be described as 'the Gates of Hell'.
5, 6. Quentin would look around the school, but wouldn't take the time to inspects the other rooms or the drawings that filled the hallways. He always wandered towards the basement of the schoolhouse. The glowing lights that shined like a beacon would practically be calling for him. The colors of orange and yellow would drawl him closer and closer to the steps. Despite their resemblance of fire and the heat that came from the steps, he always wandered inside.
7, 8. His heartbeat would grow faster as he felt sweat starting to sparkle across his face, especially from his forehead and under his eyes. Once he came all the way down the steps, the door would slam and lock behind him. He'd hear the lullaby and chime of singing school girls. The repetitive counting, the lulling sounds, the faint clicking of a jump rope smacking against the ground. Everything was there. Although he could never find them, he always heard them. As the song seemed to drawl closer, Quentin would fly up the steps to try and pry the door open. He'd kick, smack, tug, push, and even jiggle the handle, nothing worked.
9. 10. As the heat grew hotter and the light grew brighter, he'd let out a small cry before it all fell silent. The lights would be dimmed, the lullaby would grow silent, and the heat would diminish. However, the door would still be locked. Once he'd hear the sound of scratching metal, he'd leave the door alone. Quentin would sprint down the corridor to find another way out. Although his heart would be racing and his hands would be shaky, he'd keep going. Just when he thinks that all hope is lost, he finds an opening. Quentin would always reach for it, but would be pulled back by some force. He'd smack against the wall and come face to face with the man behind it all. His body would smell like burning flesh, his snicker would fill the entire floor, his blades would scratch the metal beam right behind Quentin's head, and his breath would reek of smoke, as if he inhaled it all before he died. Just when this demon would raise his glove to slash, Quentin would wake up.
-
"Quentin!" he'd hear just before his eyes would open like curtains that covered the windows. He woke up panting for air as he stayed on his back, practically paralyzed by fear.
"Quentin, hey, it's okay. You're okay." the man before his said in his low, raspy voice. It was Quentin's dad, Alan. Once Quentin registered the voice, he would sigh shakily then slump back in bed.
"It was him again, wasn't it?" his dad finally asked, despite him dreading the question. His son would nod before he'd run his hands through his brunette curls then down his face.
"What time is it?" Quentin finally asked. His voice was raspy as well, but only because his throat was sore from screaming in his sleep.
"It's like three in the morning. Here, you should go back to-" his father went to finish, but the insomniac stopped him.
"No. No more sleeping. I- I'll be fine.." Quentin mumbled.
"Quen, you're clearly not fine. Far from it." his dad admitted. Quentin knew this, but he'd never admit it. As far as they were concerned, as long as his dad still had a job and Quentin was still breathing, he'd be fine. They both would be.
"You can't keep living like this. Nobody deserves to," his dad admitted as he sat down at the end of Quentin's bed. Great, now it was clear that his dad wasn't gonna leave him alone anytime soon. "Here, I'll tell you what. I'll see what we can do, okay? Just hang tight for the next few days and I'll get back to you on that," Alan said as Quentin squinted at the man before him.
"Yeah alright..." Quentin mumbled as the looked at his dad. He had no idea what his dad was talking about, but he'd go along with anything he said as long as it got his dad out of his room faster.
With a sigh in defeat, Alan left his son to ponder his thoughts and possibly go back to sleep. However, once he was gone, Quentin sat up a bit more to keep himself awake. He grabbed another can of Monster from his nightstand then he cracked it open. The metal lip hissed before it crackled. With no hesitation, Quentin took a swig of the beverage then looked over at the empty pill bottles. Besides them was a drawing. It was one of his friends'. Well, he hoped to be more than just friends, but it didn't exactly work out that way. Quentin had one of Nancy Holbrook's paintings. He always kept it on his desk and refused to let anything happen to it. Alan never thought anything of it, which was probably for the best. The painting itself wasn't important, but that was the last thing he had that reminded him of Nancy. Even when they thought that they defeated Freddy, he went and took Nancy right out from under Quentin. He looked at the artwork then raised his can before he took a drink, almost as a cheers to his former friend.
It wasn't always like this. When this all started to unravel, he relied on Zoneral to keep him up and Hypnocil to prevent him from dreaming. Once Quentin's doctor resigned and he couldn't get his meds anymore, everything started to crumble again. He couldn't tell what was real or not anymore. Hell, he didn't even know if Freddy was really after him, or if he was just having a repetitive flashback. At this point, it didn't matter. Whether Freddy was there or not, he was still gonna terrorize Quentin one way or another.
He was the sole survivor. It didn't matter if he wanted this or not. Either way, Quentin had to keep it that way, and his dad was seek to it.