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Jake was leaned against the cold white tile walls of the hospital, using it to keep his balance as he limped as quickly as he could through the long, wide hallways. They were nearing the end of the trial, that was for sure. They’d gotten close—down to the last generator—but it hadn’t been close enough. From the scream that echoed off the walls, he could tell the second member of the trial, Kate, had gotten downed. The hooks lit up before his eyes when she was pulled off the floor, something that, while useful, always felt taunting when he was helpless to save someone.
Jake breathed heavily through his nose, glancing at one of the nearby hooks. Bet he’ll take that one, he thought. He was right, seeing his fellow survivor’s aura thrown onto the hook a moment later. A short, breathy laugh escaped him, followed by a cough, as he felt the Entity’s presence thicken the air as it came to accept its sacrifice.
There were two of them left now, Adam having taken the hook several minutes prior. Heartbeat was thundering in his ears still. Jake knew the killer wasn’t around, of course, he’d just seen Kate get hooked, but it still sent his blood running cold. The paranoia was on account of who the killer was—the Doctor. He was one of Jake’s least favorites, and that was quite a feat considering the killers he had to face on the daily. He always hated every minute of it, the way he couldn’t control the fear or panic anymore, could barely even run properly. The way his hands would shake and he wouldn’t be able to focus. He couldn’t sabotage when he could barely hold on to a toolbox. Just passively trying to go about a trial was miserable, and that wasn’t even starting to count was it was like to try to run from the big fucker.
Right now, Jake was trying to get to the fourth member of the trial. Dwight—one of the three that were always at the same campfire. The fancy one, specifically, the one named for it; the only one out of the three of them that Jake liked talking to, or at least could stand. He’d saved Kate from the last hook and he’d gone down for it before the Doctor had decided to go after the songbird. Now that Kate was dead and dying, either the killer was going to look for where he’d knocked Fancy down at or do a sweep to try and find Jake. Jake was really hoping for the latter, but he kept a high alert just in case. Every one of the Doctor’s hallucinations gave him a miniature heart attack.
He heard Dwight before he saw him, a soft, sobbing cry that made Jake grimace. He also heard Dwight try to bite back his cries when the other must have heard his footsteps; not that it worked, of course, just muffled them slightly. Jake glanced around, just to make sure the killer wasn’t about to sneak up on him, before he entered the shower room that Dwight had gone down in.
Despite his earlier attempts at muffling himself, Dwight yelped when Jake stepped into view. He’d pressed himself into the corner of the open shower. The poor guy was half soaked in blood and half soaked in water, probably from curling up under the drizzling shower nozzle, and his blood was running in diluted rivulets to the shower drain. Most of all, he looked completely petrified. His eyes were wide and a little hazy and his hands were shaking and Jake recognized the expression on his face.
“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Jake said, lowering slightly and raising his hands. He wasn’t even sure Dwight would recognize him in this state—sometimes it was hard to remember who your own name when it got that bad. “You’re ok, Dwight, I’m—just here to patch you up.”
Dwight was, in fact, not ok. There was a big tear of a hook wound near his left shoulder that hadn’t been seen to, and a bunch of tears from the spikes of the Doctor’s bat on his lower chest. Jake could bet he had a handful of broken ribs from that, and Jake was willing to bet there was another untreated wound on his back.
Possibly worse, considering the amount of blood that was slowly seeping off of him.
Dwight flinched when Jake started to move forward, a sharp noise of pain and fear leaving him. He breathed harsh and fast for a moment before managing to find his voice, as off-tenor and shaky as it was. “D-d-do-n’t,” he whispered, eyes averted and staring off somewhere past the survivor in front of him. “He’s c-coming, he’s g-g-going to kill—hh hah —me and—y-y-you have to go, you have to go—”
“Dwight,” Jake interrupted, or tried to, at least, as Dwight’s voice quieted into repeated, frantic mumbling. “Dwight. Fancy, hey, look at me.” Shit, he had to get Dwight up. The Doctor would be coming by at any time, and if they both got caught here, that was that. The hatch wouldn’t even have time to unlock before they’d both be dead. “We need to move, ok?”
“P-pl- ease ! G-go away, he’s coming! He’s—he’s coming—” Fuck, Dwight definitely didn’t know he was being so loud. Jake looked around, able to hear the swelling of the terror radius again and this time he wasn’t so convinced it was just in his head. Jake swallowed before slipping into the stall beside him, crouching down so that he could reach underneath Dwight’s arm and support him slightly. He started to push up to bring them both off the floor, unfortunately jostling Dwight’s no doubt grievous injuries. The agonized half-shout, half-groan of, “T- tartar sauce! ” simultaneously made Jake’s stomach twist and left him a little… bemused by the absurdity of it.
He’s half-dead and his brain’s turning inside out and he still won’t say fuck.
It was impressive, if nothing else.
“I know,” Jake said quietly, trying to ease Dwight to his feet as fast as possible. He had to lean his own weight to his right and hoped they wouldn’t be too off-balance—he’d taken a hit to his leg earlier that had crunched on impact and, well, that wasn’t fun, but it’d be fine.
They just needed to get out of here, and finish the last generator. One of them could make it out.
Jake had to take a second after hefting the taller man up, then glanced over, making eye contact. God, Dwight looked so fucking scared. He was pale, his breaths rattling, and even though his mumbling had finally quieted he was still shaking badly. He looked so pale. How close was he to bleeding out? He had one arm draped over the injury above his stomach and was squeezing the fabric of his vest tight. Jake swallowed again and tried to sound as calm as possible when he spoke again, ignoring the hissing in his ears and the looming feeling in his chest that the killer was right around the corner. “We’re gonna be ok, I promise, look—we’ve only. We’ve only got one gen left, and there’s, uh,” he gestured somewhat randomly, “there’s one almost done thataway. You’ll be ok, but you’ve—you’ve gotta stay calm. I’m right here. Ok…?” Possibly something of a lie. There was one generator he’d managed to get a bit of progress onto but not only did he have no idea where it was compared to his current location, it definitely wasn’t ‘almost done’. At least it was off in a corner, and somewhere quiet could probably give Dwight time enough to calm down.
It seemed to work, though, at least a little. Jake could feel Fancy’s shaking somewhat subside and he gave a tiny nod. “I-it’s almost—over?”
“Just a little more,” Jake reassured. You gotta fucking go. He’s coming for real now, but if I freak him out…! He pulled Dwight a step forward and the other followed with a stilted, stumbling step. “You go work on it and—”
The deep resonating rumble beneath their feet was the only warning they got before a shockwave exploded and electricity ripped through the both of them. Dwight yelped and Jake swore, and suddenly it was a lot harder to focus. At least Dwight was getting his strength back, inexplicably, because that’s how the trials worked. Which was good, because Jake wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to stagger along and also run from the Doctor.
The generator—the generator. If Dwight just went and worked on that, Jake could run and Dwight could get out. They were both in bad condition anyway, and Dwight was on death hook, so it was an easy decision to make. When he was somewhat confident Dwight could walk on his own, he lowered his arm, glancing behind them, and there he was, the Doctor, standing in full view, grin wide and eyes a stark, blinding white.
“Oh, fuck—run!” Jake shouted, adrenaline rushing as Dwight startled and sprinted forward, soon followed by the saboteur—
Directly into the unfortunately real Doctor, who rounded the corner with a crackling laugh. The two immediately turned on their heels, Jake slipping on the blood-slick tile while Fancy, unfortunately closer because he’d sprinted, took the full brunt of the Doctor’s bat, straight into his side again.
Jake froze for a moment as Dwight crumpled to the floor with a scream. Fuck! It’d been a hallucination and he’d just fucked them both over and, well, so much for getting that generator done. He kept running, and the Doctor didn’t chase him, but did leave off with another blast of static that made the muscles in his legs cramp even more, made it even harder to focus. But he didn’t commit to the chase, and that’s what mattered, because the moment Jake turned into the nearest room he skidded to a stop and waited.
A hook to his left, right outside, lit up in a soft white. The Doctor had picked Fancy up, and Jake stepped out of the doorway to see which direction the killer was going to bring him in—and the Doctor was walking towards him, a wriggling Dwight in tow.
Jake almost grinned. Almost.
He rushed around the corner, reaching down to start untying the ropes and loosening the mechanisms that kept the hook in place, attempting unsuccessfully to keep his breathing steady. The tremors in his fingers had gotten too erratic and he couldn’t get a damn grip on the ropes, but he couldn’t look up, he didn’t have time to. Please. He practically felt the Doctor breathing down his neck, and while he was mildly sure that was fake he knew the man was bearing down on him and he just—he was so close , and as long as he didn’t get to that catatonic state of madness he’d be fine —
Jake ducked, sliding to the side as he jerked the rope in one more desperate attempt right as the metal bat came swinging for his skull, clanging against the metal post an inch above his head. He started to scramble to his feet, but hardly had enough time to dodge the downswing. It caught him hard right on the back of his head, bludgeoning and tearing all at once, sending him sprawling while his vision blurred and spun.
He’d gotten what he wanted, though; the Doctor wasn’t going to be able to get Fancy to another hook before he’d freed himself. The Doctor knew that, too, evidenced by the way he dropped Fancy bodily onto the floor, shaking his head with a short chuckle. Then he reached down, grabbed Dwight by his shoulder, and flipped him over onto his back. Jake heard him whimper and raised his head, trying to get a good focus on what was going on. He saw the Doctor reach for Dwight’s wrist and raise it up into the air, and then there was a spark and the scent of burning flesh.
Dwight screamed, back arching and legs spasming with the electricity suddenly rushing down his spine. His head jerked back, hitting the floor with a worryingly loud impact, and the Doctor’s shocks did not cease for several seconds. The Doctor laughed as Dwight’s screams subsided into exhausted, pained sobs.
Jake grimaced, trying to push himself up despite knowing the futility of it. “Fucker,” he hissed, the words slurred from how dazed he still was. He figured the Doctor was waiting for the Entity to repair the hook, something that would always happen with time. The old hook had already burned away on the floor, like it always did. “Why don’t—you hook me? Scared you’ll lose him that fast?” He tried taunting, because taunting always made the killers mad and it always got their attention. Or, at least, it usually did.
The Doctor just tilted his head and giggled again. Jake’s fingers curled into fists. God damn it! he thought furiously as the killer let go of Fancy’s wrist only to reach down and grab the survivor by the collar of his shirt. The Doctor hefted him up to his feet, entirely unbothered by Dwight’s desperate struggles to claw at his hand and force him to let go, and his free hand settled on Dwight’s forehead. The other knew what was coming.
“Stop!” Dwight shouted desperately, a moment before the Doctor’s arm hummed and another charge was sent through him, tearing howls from his throat. Again, he seized and thrashed involuntarily. The Doctor held him still until he finally let up on the electricity, keeping Dwight in the air as the man’s struggles slowed with exhaustion.
He didn’t even do anything! Jake wanted to snap, but he knew how well trying to bargain or argue went with these things. He’d only wanted to help, but if Dwight had just gotten hooked, he wouldn’t be getting fried from the inside out, slowly and surely, to death. All Jake had done was prolong what was inevitable. And what could he do to stop this now?
Nothing.
Nothing.
Dwight was alive, but only barely. His breathing was fast and staccato, and there were little streams of blood coming from his ears and nose now. Blood had mixed with the drool from his open-mouthed panting. It wasn’t a pretty way to go, and Dwight hadn’t even gone yet.
The hook above them had begun to reform, the Entity slowly stitching the bloody steel back together on the looming post. At least he’d finally be able to go. The Doctor would pick him up, hook him, and that would be it. Painful but in a very final sort of way. Not… this.
The Doctor’s grin, if possible, looked like it stretched even wider. The air buzzed with charge, and suddenly Jake was very glad that, at the very least, Dwight’s injuries were as grave as they were. At least he would bleed out soon.
When the killer finally tired of him, and Dwight’s screams had faded into defeated groans and he could no longer open his eyes, the Doctor dropped him. Dwight’s legs hit the floor and folded instantly, collapsing into a barely-breathing pile of survivor. Jake couldn’t help but stare, eyes wide and unfocused.
He’d never been so desperate, nor relieved, to see someone stop breathing, even as the Doctor stepped over Dwight’s body towards him.