Work Text:
“-GET AWAY FROM MY FEET!!”
John bolted upright, the echo of his own hoarse voice still rattling around his tiny bedroom as frantic hands pat over the familiar mess of his own bed; a flurry of wrinkled sheets and dirty socks danced around his sweat soaked body, his legs scrunched up tight against him in a reflexive fear of the dream that hadn’t quite left him yet. The only noise in the apartment was his own clipped, panted breathing, but still his heart refused to slow down.
“Right, right- uh, five things, uh. Chair, desk, trash- I really need to take that out- uh, window, ceiling fan. Four things I can, mmh, feel- bed, sweater, pants, hair- ew. Three things I can… is it hear or smell? Well, I hear me talking to myself like a lunatic, I hear the fan, and I hear the cars outside.”
John took a deep breath in an attempt to further calm his overactive fear response. He really hated that his therapist's stupid grounding technique actually worked, at least, when he actually had ground beneath him.
“I smell, um…. Is that me? Oh god, ok-”
John took another deep breath, decided to file smell under things he doesn’t necessarily need to be more aware of, thanks, and glanced at his calendar. Today, Friday the 24th, at five in the afternoon, marked the third day in a row that he’d been home. A solid seventy two hours of space-free living, which was a milestone to look forward to, considering his circumstances- and he meant that in the most statistically relevant way possible. He had journals- data sets- charts and graphs- trend lines, even- pages of notes taken on times and dates and durations, all of them scrawled out with whatever writing utensil he could get his hands on, whether it be crayon or marker or pencil or, at one point, sparkly gel pen; the method of notation never mattered. What mattered was writing it all down in a sad and futile attempt to wring some sort of control out of a highly unpredictable and chaotic situation- and nobody could even fault him for that, since his therapist was the one who suggested he try it in the first place!
...He was well aware that he had once again managed to take a supposedly healthy coping mechanism to unhealthy, possibly obsessive levels, but in his defense, modern therapy techniques were not designed to handle the emotional and mental repercussions of multiple alien kidnappings. John was not designed to handle the emotional and mental repercussions of multiple alien kidnappings. All this to say, in the most roundabout and drawn out way possible, that he’d started tracking Timmy’s kidnapping whims to see if there was any discernible pattern; while there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what time of day he got abducted, if Timmy left him alone for three straight days then the fourth day held the highest chance of John being alien free.
John’s eyes flicked from the piles of scribbled notes on his messy desk to the looming threat of the bathroom door, and his lip habitually slipped between his teeth as he felt fear grip him again. He took another breath, as deep as he felt he could with the tightness in his chest. It was fine, he could shower. The chances of getting caught pants-down and dick-out were much lower this time- he had the statistics to prove it.
Each inch of himself that John peeled out of the false comfort of his bed took its own separate pep talk, but in the end, he managed it. Clean briefs, under-shirts, socks, 5th version of his favorite sweater, and cargo pants -which he was just now noticing were the exact same shade of army green as all the rest of his pants- were all gathered and laid directly next to his shower. He considered the logistics of keeping a waterproof bag of clothes inside the shower itself before shaking his head. He could do this. He could willingly choose to be vulnerable for 10-15 minutes for the sake of personal hygiene.
The shower lasted all of seven minutes, but at least he was clean and dressed now.
He really needed to get a better handle on things. He was supposed to be getting better. He promised his parents he was doing okay, managing to take care of himself, and that he really didn’t need to go back on those stupid anti-anxiety meds that just made him more anxious.
As much as he hated to admit it, it was probably time to brush up on his old hobby.
With his towel draped over his head and under his hair -he never could figure out the towel hat thing his mom had always done- he dared to pull out the books.
The closet was dusty, aside from a few blankets and the hardly-used winter jacket, the tiny room was used more for storage than actual clothes, and yet dustier still was the cardboard box still tapped shut from when he’d moved out of his college dorm. He’d neglected to write any kind of note on the side of the box as to its contents, but he knew. The damn thing seemed to radiate a variant of his own nervousness back at him tenfold. He pulled the string light and pretended not to notice the way the ceiling bowed for a moment with such little force.
John managed to finagle the box down from the top shelf in lieu of a step stool with a very dignified tip-toe stuffing technique, though this did very little to prevent him from getting a wave of dust in his eyes. And yet, despite the imminent threat of sneezing, he opted to stay in the closet. Small and enclosed, safe from windows and peeping eyes, the closet seemed the safest place to be vulnerable.
Old tape peeled off the box top without resistance.
The first thing that greeted his eyes was the worn and bent spiral bound notebook with “SURVIVAL TIPS” written on the front in black sharpie. It was a summary of the rest of the books in the box.
He still remembered those years, though he tried not to, torturous high school all the way through soul sucking college, how the supernatural world he’d tried so hard to find chased him day in and day out.
John flipped through the note book in the padded and quiet confines of his closet, fingers absently tracing over doodles and sketches of designs he’d scrounged up from books and the internet and word of mouth, a hodgepodge of cultures and religions scratched onto the pages by desperate, shaky, childish hands.
An Egyptian scarab beetle, for good luck, good fortune, and protection against evil forces in life and in death. The Norse trollkors and the Helm of Awe- for protection against malevolent magic and hostile forces, respectively. The Middle Eastern hamsa to protect the aura from negative energies. The Celtic triple moon and the witch’s knot, for empowerment, safety, and protection from witchcraft. The African ohene aniwa, for vigilance and defense, and nsa, to cover the rest of his bases- that one’s just for protection from all.
They were tangled together with a few other runes and seals and drawings of flowers and herbs meant to protect against magic, demons, and the fae- he’d even tossed the sigil from Supernatural in the mess, just in case. He couldn’t afford to leave anything up to chance.
All the symbols he’d collected to protect himself from forces outside of his control. Of course, the best protection against most otherworldly creatures was to not believe in them- something he couldn’t convince himself to do now that he’d seen them- but ignoring the ones that slipped past the protective magic worked well enough.
For years, the jerry rigged system of polytheistic bullshittery hastily tattooed on his body had been the only thing that had allowed him to return to a peaceful life, and it had served him well for the last five or so years... but now there were aliens. He honestly couldn’t say he’d believed in aliens before he’d been kidnapped by one- clearly skepticism and willpower were not great methods for dealing with extraterrestrial threats- and Timmy seemed in no way inconvenienced by the runes and sigils meant to protect from threats of all kinds. Did that mean the magic in his tattoos had worn off? Had they been cursed? Did Timmy somehow exist as a loophole around them, or was earth magic just not effective against aliens?
He almost hoped so. It would be better than the alternative- that the magic was just gone, leaving him with the same protections as a slab of steak in a dog kennel.
John dug through his books, gently tiptoeing around some of the more dangerous memories they carried as he did. He was on a mission after all! He didn’t have time to think about the faceless monster that had tapped on his window every full moon begging to be let in. He had stuff to do! He couldn’t get lost in thoughts of the tiny human bite marks that he would wake up with if he didn’t leave sugar on his windowsill.
And most importantly, he could not waste time remembering the night he nearly got his sister killed.
The way her head hung limp in his hands as he’d held her unconscious body. How stupid he’d been for not listening to his mom, for taking her off the trail. The uncaring goat eyes of the fae.
“She’ll die if I go with you,” he had choked out.
“Why should we care about your family?” It rumbled back.
He’d ran like hell through that forest, ran with his barely four year old sister threatening to slip through his arms, ran when his throat closed up and the only breaths he could take were ragged wheezes, ran out of the woods and into the blinding morning light that haloed his frantic trek through his backyard only to slam into a door that had been locked behind him.
“Mom!! MOM!!! MOM DAD PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!!” He screamed above the sound of his frantic doorbell ringing. He glanced back over his shoulder, certain the last thing he’d see was claws and wings, but instead he saw the back of the fae as it retreated into the woods. He would later find out it was the bell that had driven it away, but in that moment all he could do was shake.
His mother opened the door, bleary eyed and in a bathrobe that had been loosely tied together. She pulled them inside in one swift motion and immediately started checking them for bruises.
“Oh my babies, my babies, what on earth is going on? What were you doing out this early? What happened?” She held John’s face and tried to find the answer in his eyes, only to be met with the green of his irises rolling back in his head as he fainted.
Resting calmly in the corner of the cardboard box, “The Medieval Changeling” book held John's blank gaze.
For years he’d tried to cultivate a relationship with the spirits of the forest. He thought he was being smart, following all the rules, playing it safe- thought he was being a good big brother by showing his little sister a world filled with magic. But maybe in the end he did too good of a job. The fae wanted to keep him. Just him. They cared very little for his confident and precocious sister who toddled around the woods in her sparkly crocks and put every rock she fancied in her Princess Peach purse without any thanks or traded gift. And they made it very clear that they had all the time in the world to steal him away, that one slip up would mean leaving his family behind and being forever trapped beyond the veil.
A text nearly sent John into cardiac arrest.
Sent from “Mom” 5:26 PM: “Sorry I know you’re probably still trying to catch some Z’s before your shift, but look at how cute your new baby cousin is!!”
John picked up his phone and looked at the grainy image of a wrinkly pile of human skin, lovingly swaddled in pink and covered in a corny glitter filter.
Sent from “Mom” 5:27 PM: “She was just born a few hours ago! You guys are almost birthday twins 😮!”
Sent from “John” 5:27 PM: “Actually mom could I come over for dinner tonight?”
“Sorry”
“I know it’s last minute”
“I just can’t sleep and I miss you guys”
“Also the baby is cute”
Sent from “Mom” 5:27 PM: “Oh honey you know you’re always welcome! 😀 We’re having ham’n’pea salad tonight!”
John could practically hear his mom’s accent through the text, and he felt his shoulders relax at the thought of one of his guilty pleasures. Ham and pea salad was a delightful comfort food and anyone who disagreed could fight his mom.
~~
The drive to his parents’ house was a well traveled one, given the fact that he had a resounding zero other people worth visiting. It was pretty much the only place he drove- even his job was within walking distance. Not that he minded; he was lucky enough to have an amazing family that really cared deeply about him, maybe too much so- besides, every friendship he’d ever tried to cultivate had ended in horrible abject failure, so visiting anyone else seemed like a complete waste of time to him.
Before he’d managed to pull into the driveway he was accosted. This, too, was pretty familiar.
“YARG! Hand over yer spoils or tonight ye be sleeping wid da fishes!” he heard one of his younger cousins yell out as he pelted John's car with nerf bullets.
“We’re sending him to Davy Jones’s locker, you poser! We’re pirates, not the mafia!” the other twin shouted. Regardless of the misnomer, both of them jumped on the hood of John's car the moment it was parked and started shaking it back and forth.
Before John could figure out how to deal with the imminent property damage, his mom appeared in the open door way.
“OH NO~!” she called out, needlessly dramatic, “I just finished making dessert and I have no one to lick the spoon!” Both of John's cousins instantly forgot their original objective and darted back into the house, leaving a new litter of nerf bullets in the lawn.
With the front yard now free of sugar-high little attack goblins, John felt it safe enough to leave his car; he rolled his shoulders with a few little cracks, stretching his arms up over his head to get the kinks out as he walks up the little gravel path that leads to the front door and his patiently waiting mother. Before he could say a word, she scooped him up and hugged him hard enough to make his back pop; the release of pressure made him go all noodly -a welcome reprise from the tension he carried with him like armor- and then he just stayed that way, smiling and melting into the hug. All these years since he was a kid and she was still taller than him -he’d definitely gotten his dads genes on that one- but no matter how old he got she still smelled the same, like an old book and the lavender soap she swore kept her young; her hands were always warm and her smile even warmer. John had always envied the way his mother carried herself, like she was exactly where she was supposed to be and was strong enough for everyone there to rely on her.
Ok, so maybe he was a bit of a mama’s boy, so what? She was a great mom!
But the hug couldn’t last forever, no matter how long his mom liked her hugs, and he pulled back to look at her. “Damien and Derick are here? Is Aunt Terra visiting? I didn’t see her car.”
His mother’s smile wrinkled at the edges and her eyes filled with a dull ache she couldn’t hide. She ushered him inside where he could see his feral cousins nearly climbing his dad to get to the cookie dough bowl before it could be rinsed.
“Your Aunty Terra needs a little bit of help right now.” She spoke in a hushed voice, just loud enough to not be considered a whisper. “You know she’s always had trouble with how energetic the boys are, and since that no good ex-husband ran off with his mistress, she’s been … falling back on some old habits. So we offered to keep them for the summer.”
“But it’s not summer?”
“No, it’s not,” she sighed, and though her smile faded, it never fell.
The Cross family was strangely tight knit; it wasn’t unusual for a community favor like this to be asked and received without a second thought. But John was a Cross too, and he hadn’t heard anything about this. He glanced around at the living room and the kitchen full of his cousin's toys, firmly settled into place. It made sense why his aunt didn’t want to talk about it, but his mom’s sisters were all gossip fiends- there’s no way this was a well kept secret. And even then, did no one think to mention that they’d be staying in his old room? Why hadn’t anyone… included him in this? Why was he just now finding out?
“Yo, reddit twink!”
The voice of his sister snapped him back to the present. She sauntered down the stairs in a... suspiciously familiar pair of army green cargo pants and what looked like a black leotard. For some reason, she was wearing a full face of makeup with heavy and extravagant eyeliner on a Friday evening, like a psycho.
“...Reddit twink? Yeah, well, you’re… emo. Did you dye your hair?” He leaned over to the side and blatantly stared at the blue braids on the side of Daphne’s head.
“Yeah! Finally got mom to agree to it as long as I use my own black towel and pillow cases!” She beamed proudly and pulled John into a short hello-hug.
“My poor bathtub will never be the same again,” his mom bemoaned as she started walking towards the kitchen to get dinner plated.
“No, mom, I told you- I found a life hack on the internet, I can totally get rid of it all before I graduate, I promise!”
He followed them to the kitchen, hands moving on autopilot as he rummaged around through the drawers to grab silverware. The sound of their voices washed over him as he arranged each fork and knife and spoon just so; he sighed, lungs filled with the scent of bread and mayo and dawn dish soap, the near-permanent tension in his back and shoulders ebbing away the longer he spent surrounded by nostalgic, comforting familiarity.
The light in the kitchen was warm, an effect made even more intense by the yellow paint his mother had picked out for the walls. She insisted it made everything look cozy; he couldn’t help but agree, especially now, especially when he’d needed this kind of safe domesticity- the opposite of what he’d been dealing with for weeks..
The chair squeaked against the floor when John sat down in his usual spot and folded his legs underneath him. His dad placed his bowl in front of him- his bowl, the one with the slight chip in the rim and the jasmine-and-pink-carnation pattern, the bowl he’d insisted was the perfect bowl all throughout his childhood- and John watched the way it sunk into the semi padded vinyl table cover, heavy with his favorite comfort meal. The flower print of the table cover fanned out from where his bowl sat and blended in seamlessly with the rim design on the bowl; it was busy and a little headache-inducing, the pale green of the mayo-covered peas inside clashing with the pinks and whites and purples of the florals, but it was perfect.
John took a deep breath and relaxed into the cheap wooded seat that had nearly been molded to his butt. On the table in front of him, a candle flickered like it was being paid to create the perfect ambiance. One of his mom’s sisters was a professional candle maker and was always gifting them with various aromatics that needed to be used near constantly lest they pile up; this one was labeled “You Try too hard, Relax a Little” and supposedly smelled of bay laurel and clean linen, though whatever smell it was supposed to create was being overshadowed by the cookies his mom pulled out of the oven. He closed his eyes, just- breathing. Living. He absorbed the atmosphere of his childhood home like he could take this sense of peace with him the next time his life took a head-first dive back into Shit Creek- so calm he didn’t even jump when his dad sat down next to him and slapped a companionable hand against his back.
“Good to see you buddy. How’s the store? You keep everything ship-shape over there? Not letting the crackheads bully you too much I hope,” he chuckled at his own joke as he took a bite of his salad. On the other side of the table the rest of the family took their seats, chatter picking up as his mother tried to reason reasoned with his cousins that if they wanted tech time after dinner they needed to eat quietly and pick up their nerf darts when they were done, Daphne chiming in to help or hinder her arguments and the twins’ bargaining responses with no rhyme or reason- perpetually the devil’s advocate.
“Yes sir,” he gave his dad a soft smile and took a bite of his own meal, and- well. Maybe ham’n’pea salad isn’t exactly five star dining, but he swore he’d never eaten anything that’d tasted quite so good at that moment.
“So, cousin John,” Damien started.
“I bet you're wondering why we’ve called you here today,” Derrick finished. The two of them sat side by side, fingers laced together like evil CEOs of an evil corporation, and he couldn’t help but snort at their antics.
Together they ate, talked, joked and laughed. John learned that Daphne had already picked out where she wanted to go to college, and that his dad’s begonias were doing really well. He answered all questions about his own life as vaguely as he could, and always managed to divert the conversation back to everyone else. He only had so much time to catch up, after all.
He ate his dinner- cleared his whole bowl, thank you- and then ate enough cookies that Daphne started to slap at his hands whenever he reached for another one. He put up with it with a lopsided smile, hands darting around her to snatch up another while she was distracted, nodding absently to her ranting about how hogging all of mom’s cookies to yourself will just put you in a food coma, idiot, do you want to die of a chocolate overdose? Because this is how you die from a chocolate overdose, or from my foot up your ass if you don’t leave me any-
Even with the ranting, and with Damien and Derek getting into another nerf battle instead of properly picking up all their little foam bullets, it was still a quiet night. Peaceful and soft. He helped his mother with the dishes despite her protests, the two of them working in easy tandem to wash and dry the plates before she split off to package up enough food to feed a small army- or perhaps a single Timmy and maybe half a John. She shoved all the plastic containers into his arms right after he’d finally convinced himself to put his shoes back on in preparation for the journey home; his heart ached with fondness and the desire to just... stay. He couldn’t- it’d drive him nuts eventually, he liked his space and his quiet and his independence and he could never live with himself if he brought the horrors of his own life upon his family, but that hardly stopped his heart from yearning.
“Oh, honey- before you go, I want you to take this with you.” Still fumbling with the leftovers she insisted he take, his mother leaned down to the shoe caddy and grabbed a large bin stationed next to it. She placed the tupperware on top of the lid and then passed the whole set up to her son. “I know you probably don’t want the boys getting in your stuff- and believe me they have been trying- so please take this with you before it’s too late.”
“Oh yeah, sure.” It’s not like his apartment was crammed full of anything- he definitely had the space, but having another piece of him removed from his childhood home did sting ever so slightly. Plus,with the box in his hands, he couldn’t hug her goodbye. Which was slightly more devastating than it should have been for an independent adult man, but fuck that- he loved his mom, and she gave the best hugs.
As he walked back to his car, he passed by the twins picking up their darts for the second time. Absently, he wonders if there will be a third nerf battle after this one.
“Aww, what!” one of them shouted. “You’re leaving already?”
“You better not! I wanted to play you in super smash bros!” The other yelled.
“Sorry guys, maybe next time.” He tried to placate them as he struggled to open his door without dropping the bin.
“And when is next time, exactly?”
“Yeah, we never see you!”
Part of that was because Aunty Terra lived several hours away, but a piece of John twinged with the guilt that a larger part of it was because he spent so much time to himself.
“Soon,” he said. “Since you’re spending the summer, you’re a lot closer to me. Phinny has keys to my apartment and her driver’s license now, you can come visit.”
“Hell yeah! Guy’s night!” They both cheered, and guilt twisted in John’s soul knowing that he couldn’t reasonably plan a date given his current… alien situation. He had the brief, horrifying thought that the twins would love Timmy- they were as big into space and the paranormal as he had been at that age, just with less forethought, self-control, and caution... That was probably why his mom wanted his shit gone so badly. If they found his old stuff, it would only be a matter of time before they went tromping through the woods alone too, just to end up in just as much shit as John had, if not more.
John hid the way his face twisted into a frown as he got in his car and drove away.
~~
Unfortunately, John didn’t have quite enough time to stop by his apartment before his shift started, having pulled every last second out of family time as he reasonably could without being late; fortunately, he did snoop around through the bin his mom had given him and discovered one of his old favorite books.
His shift went by as it usually did. His boss’s son grumbled vaguely at him as the man him as they clocked in and out respectively, and John spent the first couple of hours of his shift selling energy drinks, caffeine pills, and soda to late night road trippers and truck drivers seeking anything they could get their hands on to help them make it just a little bit further on their drives; after that it was nothing but beautiful monotony. He’d already done his required cleaning, the customers had died down to a one-per-hour-if-that trickle, and he was left with plenty of time to crack open the spine of The Spiderwick Chronicles, fingers rubbing over the textured cover in absent habit as his eyes skimmed over half-memorized words.
It was a good book, full of lessons he probably should have paid more attention to; he skimmed through the first chapter with a sigh, mind full of hobgoblin spit and brownies and goblins as he tried and failed to stop comparing his childhood circumstances to that of Arthur and Jared and Simon and Mallory- kidnapping by fairies and mortal peril included. It was almost enough to sour the book for him; he wondered if he would have turned out like Arthur, trapped in another realm and unaware of the passage of time, functionally ageless and living through the lives and deaths of all his family... And to think, he’d been so arrogant as a kid- so sure that he’d made friends, that the fae saw him as an equal and not a threat who knew too much or a cute pet to be taught tricks and shown off at parties...
The bell attached to the door handle rang, jolting him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even read anything but the same three sentences over and over for the last several minutes anyway- he was almost grateful that a customer had shown up to shake him free of his impending spiral. A customer who wore a generic black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up high enough to cover a good chunk of their face... John closed his book and placed it under the counter, heaving a tired sigh as he started mentally preparing himself for the robbery he was about to face.
“Evening, what can I do for you?” It was technically morning, but that always felt awkward to say- aaand there was a gun in his face. A KF BRNO field pistol to be exact- a remarkably high-quality hand gun, with bullets that cost more than what little cash the criminal would find in his register. It seemed... inefficient, but John wasn’t about to start handing out pointers to armed robbers- that sounded like an excellent way to get shot.
“Money. Bag. Now, twink!”
That last part really didn’t feel necessary. Maybe if he started eating more, people would stop calling him a twink- or maybe when he turned thirty he could age out of the system? Who could say.
“Yes sir.” He promptly got to unlocking the cash register and handed over all one hundred dollars in change that they kept available for the night shift. Things like this were decently expected and it was a lot cheaper to fork over a chunk of cash then pay for repairs to the store- or medical bills for the staff if the criminal of the week got a little too trigger-happy. John liked to think the people robbing him were just down on their luck and needed the money for food or diapers or medicine, but even if it was used for drugs that was none of his concern- as long as they didn’t shoot him or shoot up on company property.
The man grumbled at the measly amount of cash. “Nah nah, I know you got more. Open the safe.”
“They don’t tell night shift the code, but you’re more than welcome to take the whole safe with you if you think you can crack it,” John offered, hoisting the thing up onto the counter. It was a decoy anyway.
As the man considered his options, John saw the sickening blue/green of Timmy’s portals swirl into being behind the other.
“A-actually sir, you need to leave, right- right now! The … police are coming!”
They guy looked at him like he had a mental disorder -which, to be fair, he did- and laughed.
“You think I’m stupid or someth-”
John watched in horror as Timmy came through and just- bit the robber’s head off. Blood spurted from the neck stump in the wake of the sudden lack of cardiovascular connections, and the body fell limp to the ground. Timmy’s neck expanded with a disgusting stretch as the skin and muscles moved to allow the human head to be swallowed whole.
Timmy belched loudly. “MMm, tastes like heroin! My favorite! Anyways- come on, I found this dead body that looks kinda like you. You could have had a secret twin! You know how some aliens share an egg and they don’t absorb or eat each other? It’s like that, come on!” The Klykolian gestured like he thought John was just going to get up and jump through the portal.
“N-No, you damn sicko! I can’t just leave, I have a job to do! A job that you just made twice as hard because now there’s a dead body on the floor and I have to explain to the police how a full grown adult man lost his entire head in a store that doesn’t have bears for literal miles!”
Timmy blew a raspberry at him. “You’re so whiny!” Another portal opened up beneath the corpse and it fell through to God only knows where, leaving smears of blood on the floor, the counter, the cash register, on his sweater-
“There, problem solved, easy peasy.”
John groaned into his hands, painfully aware that a lack of body did not mean he could not be charged with murder, and in fact, only made him look more suspicious in the wake of all the fucking blood. “It’s not just that. I have a family you know!”
“Oh, gross. I’m sorry.”
“NO! I love my family! And I would actually like to be able to reliably spend time with them! I can’t do that with you literally kidnapping me whenever you feel like it!”
“Oh shit, I forgot humans are pack animals. Just bring them with you, s’not that hard. Come on, we’ll go get them right now and you can all live in one of Dealer’s spare rooms. I know he won’t mind, he said humans are worth a lot of money and he likes to keep things that are worth mucho dinero.”
A sickness curled in John's stomach, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since he was in school.
“You leave my family alone,” his voice dropped low but still shook- like he was begging rather than commanding.
“UGH! You want your family with you, you don’t want your family with you, bisexuals really can’t make decisions on anything.”
As John was opening his mouth to retort, a portal opened up beneath his feet and he fell through into Timmy’s arms.
“Listen,” Timmy continued, “I’m a simple freak of nature, I just wanna hang out with you. Why should I care about your family?”
John’s body remembered those words, remembered the horrors that followed the last time he ran, and John felt as dissociation slipped over his mind like a protective shield. Timmy grinned at what he assumed was compliance on John's part and skipped off towards the corpse of someone that looked like John.