Chapter Text
It was still relatively early when Ted finally left Paul's, filled to the brim with surprisingly good pancakes and with a promise from the other man that he'd call Ted if things started getting bad again. The phantom ticking had finally quieted, though Ted wasn't holding out much hope for how long that would last. Which left him with nothing to focus on during his short drive home except for how he was going to begin the conversation that he'd promised to have with Pete.
He wasn't any closer to figuring it out by the time he pulled into his driveway, so he gave a mental shrug and decided to just wing it. Hopefully Pete wouldn't think that he'd gone crazy.
He barely made it in the front door before a pale-faced Pete knocked into him and wrapped him up in a tight hug, trying to tuck his head under Ted's chin even though they were the same height. Ted opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything when he realized that Pete was faintly trembling and that his breathing was hitching like he was fighting back sobs. So instead Ted just wrapped his own arms around Pete and let his brother hang on for however long he needed.
And if the hug helped relieve the last of the tension remaining from Ted's nightmare, no one else needed to know.
After a few minutes Pete seemed to be calming, so Ted started maneuvering them towards the couch. "You wanna tell me what's going on, Petey? Everything seemed fine when I talked to you an hour ago." He forced out a rough sounding chuckle. "If you wanted me to bring you some of Paul's pancakes you should have told me. They actually weren't half bad."
Pete let Ted deposit him on the couch, but scooted as close as he could once Ted sat down too and let out a relieved sigh when Ted kept an arm around his shoulders. "I can't explain it. Everything was fine, then you called and said that you weren't okay. And then after you hung up it just felt like you were gone forever." He paused, breath hitching again. "Until you walked in the door I'd have sworn you were never coming back. And I don't know why." He looked up at Ted, eyes wide behind his glasses. "What's wrong with me?"
Ted swore, pulling Pete closer so that he could tuck his head under Ted's chin again. "Oh, Petey. There's nothing wrong with you. The Hatchetfield fuckery just decided to get you, too." He breathed out a quiet laugh. "This is actually what I was going to talk to you about. Has anything like this happened to you before, or was this the first time?"
Pete hesitated, but after a long moment he spoke, eyes firmly on the floor in front of him. "It's been happening for a couple of weeks now. I'll suddenly forget that Richie or Ruth are still here; like my brain thinks that they're dead. I'll be perfectly fine one minute, then out of nowhere I'll start crying like I'm at a funeral." He glanced up at Ted. "And sometimes I'm positive that you're dead, or missing, or that something horrible happened to you."
"Hey, I'm right here, and Richie was perfectly fine when I left Paul's house." Ted hesitated to ask, but he needed to know. "Anything else happening, like maybe seeing strange things in the mirror?"
Pete jerked back, eyes wide as he stared at Ted. "How did you know that?"
Ted winced. "For the moment, let's just say that there's a lot of that going around right now. I'll explain later. What are you seeing?" He hoped that it wasn't creepy yellow cubes or ticking clocks, but he had a sinking feeling that whatever Pete was seeing wasn't any better.
"At first it was just that there was a lock of my hair that was a weird shade of green, which was strange but not too bad. Then I started feeling something cold and damp on my neck, like someone or something was moving my hair." Pete looked back down at the floor. "Then I started seeing a bullet hole in my forehead."
"Fuck." Ted tightened his grip on Pete. He wasn't sure if that was worse than what he'd been seeing or not.
Pete chuckled, but the sound was rough and shaky. "The worst part is that sometimes I can see Steph standing behind me in the mirror, crying and pointing a gun at the back of my head. And my reflection is begging her to shoot."
"Just when I think Hatchetfield weirdness can't get any more fucked up, it proves me wrong." Ted sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "I wish I knew how to make it stop, Pete. Unfortunately, none of us have figured anything out yet." He snorted. "If I had, maybe I could stop breaking clocks."
Pete pulled back to stare at Ted. "Is that what happened to Granddad's clock? You broke it?"
"No. Granddad's clock is packed up in something soundproof and sitting safe in the attic specifically so that I don't have a panic attack and accidentally break it." Ted raised an eyebrow at the expression on Pete's face. "What? I already broke two clocks in my office and the one in my bedroom. I didn't want to take any chances with that one."
"Do I want to know why clocks are suddenly so frightening, Ted?" Pete flashed him a small smirk, though the expression was still shaky.
Ted snorted, absently noting that Pete seemed to be calming down finally. "The freak show in my head isn't quite as straightforward as yours, kid. I don't even know why ticking clocks terrify the shit out of me, I just know they're counting down to something horrible. My reflection keeps screaming and clawing at its own face, and I keep having nightmares about being trapped in a fucking maze while some freaky disembodied voice taunts me." He paused. "I had that one last night, only I could hear you in there, too, screaming."
Pete settled back onto the couch, still tucked against Ted's side but finally a little more relaxed. "What the hell is even causing this? And why us?"
"I've got no fucking clue, and neither does Paul." Ted sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who knows, though. Maybe if the four of us put our heads together we can figure out something."
Pete narrowed his eyes. "The four of us? Me, you and Paul is only three." He paused, then his face fell. "Richie, too? Why didn't he tell me?"
Ted reached over to ruffle Pete's hair. "Probably for the same reason you didn't tell anyone, idiot." He huffed, shoulders slumping. "Same reason I didn't tell anyone until I literally caught Paul in the middle of a panic attack. I thought I was going crazy. What other reason would there be to constantly hide under my desk because the clock is ticking too loud and freaking me out?"
Pete sighed. "That's a fair point. I'd actually started thinking that I had a weird brain tumor or something."
"No, I think it's just Hatchetfield being Hatchetfield." Ted ruffled Pete's hair again, then left his arm around Pete's shoulders. "Listen, I'll call Paul later and the four of us will get together and brainstorm ideas for getting this utter fuckery to stop. In the meantime, want a milkshake?"
Pete smiled, finally relaxing fully back into the couch. "Yeah, Ted. A milkshake would be great."