Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was something in the sky. 

You didn’t have to look too far to see it. People had been out, living their lives when the screams began. The color of the sky shimmering across the streets like a kaleidoscope - red purple green blue black white - an aurora borealis of all things Fucked. And that’s the word for it. Capital F Fucked. 

The body tensed, the mind reeled. Their eyes turned skywards and their bodies would twist. Faces contorting, then pulsing out of their bodies, like someone had grabbed one end of them and squeezed their essance like toothpaste. A minute. Two minutes. A dog walker was engulfed by the rolling mass of her charge and fused into them, shrieking and barking as they tumbled into a jogger. Three minutes. Four minutes. A nail salon across the street erupted into a burst of elongated fingers, cuticles perfectly cut, scrabbling out of the shop into the city streets. 

Help. That’s what you needed to do when this happened, right? Call for help? But who the fuck was supposed to help with this? Five minutes. A cop car swerved, slammed head first into a brick wall, then shook itself off with a growl, fire and teeth erupting in like proportions to turn and slam down on the hand thing from the salon. Six minutes. 

Her eyes stared transfixed at the carnage below her. The unlit cigarette dangling from her trembling lips. Laundry - she needed to - No, it was still drying. She couldn’t bring it in. Not yet. But she didn’t have anything else and she needed something because she had to go - go?? Go where exactly?? Whole world’s going to hell outside, if she hadn’t noticed! Hasn’t been staring at it for… what? Seven minutes? 

Don’t look up. Looking up meant death. She only had to watch a little old lady, bumped by the scrambling crowds, fall flat on her ass and have her head forced skywards to see what it did to someone. Blue grey hair parted by dozens upon hundreds of bulging eyes that overtook her from her cardigan, wrapped around her walker like vines. She grips the balcony bars, almost mimicking the old woman to steady herself. Somehow she can feel it - like a sunburn you know is going to show up a half hour later. The crawling of someone looking at you from afar even if you hadn’t noticed yet. Nine minutes passed in a blink as it bored down on the back of her head.

Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look -

Ten. 

Ten minutes is what it took for her to finally tear her eyes from the carnage and stagger back into her apartment, having only enough sense to shut the blinds before bile spewed from her lips. She dropped to her knees, retching onto the kitchen floor, her ragged coughs filling the apartment. Jeanne sat back on her haunches with every breath rattling her body. Her eyes staring at the vomit on the tile, her own bloodshot eyes looking back at her in shine. 

What the hell was all that? That had to be some sort of nightmare, right? Or the filming of some wild new movie? Didn’t they film shoots around Canada? Or was that mostly Toronto? Ontario? Quebec? This stuff usually stayed in Quebec though, didn’t it?

No, she hadn’t seen any cameras. No cameras, no wires, just people. People who’d contorted their bodies to twist themselves into human pretzels because of something in the sky. Screaming and frenzied beneath its gaze. Gaze? No, that sounded right. She could feel it staring at her after all. At least she hadn’t looked. Looking seemed to be what killed people. 

She picked herself up and glanced at the mess on the floor. Right, can’t have that. Not if she was on her own. Had to be a big girl and take care of that shit. Just grab some paper towels and -

Her eyes drifted to the fridge - a list notepad with PAPER TOWELS in bold pen strokes on the page. 

Fuuuuuuck okay, regular towels - 

The laundry - 

Jeanne staggered upright and found her way to the bathroom. Toilet paper it is then!! Hopefully she wasn’t out of that too! Christ, why hadn’t she gone to the store last night? Her feet are still unsteady, bumping against the trash on the way. Picking up the clatter of tin on tile but ignoring it. Paper first. That’s what you did with messes. Had to clean it up. Before it got worse.

A hoarse laugh leaves Jeanne at the thought. Right, worse!! Like that was the worst thing that could happen to her today! Fuck, weren’t cigarettes on there too?? What else was she missing? 

Okay, one thing at a time. Calm down. Calm down. Calm the fuck down. 

“Okay thank god.” She grabbed a roll off the back of the toilet and took a headcount. Feeling lucky she wasn’t home that much. It meant she was still sitting at a solid five left, which at least meant she didn’t have to worry about running out. For now. For however long this went on for. While she was there, she checked the cupboards too. Painkillers, eyedrops, bottle of antacids (those didn’t expire, right? Even if it said they did…) She popped two and sat on the edge of her tub, running her hands through her hair. Chewing her lip. 

She still had to clean it up but… she needed a minute. Just a minute. Setting her hands against her face and taking a shaking breath, then forcing another in. 

Jeanne didn’t have much. The apartment had been a compromise - the gap between crashing on someone’s couch and getting a home in some cookie cutter neighborhood. Enough for some privacy when she needed to get away, with the rest of her hours spent with the crew. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, clasping her hands together to lean her forehead on, a silent sort of prayer. They’d gone out last night, she knew that much. And she’d crashed out early. Had they stayed out? Long enough for that thing to get them? If not the sky, then one of the monsters out there had to have, right? The laugh comes out bitter. “Maybe I won’t have to break up with him now…” then she’s biting her lip again and hissing through her teeth, “Cmon, don’t. I can’t say stuff like that…” 

But it was true, wasn’t it? Even if he hadn’t looked, there was so much happening outside. The crew had to be dead. He had to be dead. If he wasn’t then he sure wasn’t human. Her brain cycles back to the dog walker, the cop car, the nail salon, the little old lady - none of them were human anymore, right? It wasn’t cruel to think that - that’s just reality. They weren’t human. She didn’t need to worry about them, just herself. Even if Rodrick could have -

Jeanne takes a breath and shakes her head. “Don’t. Quit it. He’s gone, crews gone, just…” She stood up, “Even if they’re not, it’s not like I was an asset, right?? They can handle their shit. It’s fine.” 

None of this was fine. And she wasn’t about to make it worse thinking about fucking Rodrick at a time like this. Knowing him, he would have charged out of the bar, knife at the ready to fuck up some poor sap who got fused with a blow dryer or whatever the hell. If he’d gotten killed or turned, it was his own damn fault. 

One thing at a time. Clean up the puke, focus on breathing, then - and only then - get her laundry before she spent the rest of this apocalypse in a tank top and boxers. Another deep breath to calm herself down - 

Something lodges in her throat. She reaches for her neck, but the choking sensation doesn’t come from her throat. It’s different somehow. The taste of moist fabric sticking to her tongue. Wet and with the sour tang of sweat and bile. She catches herself in the mirror and freezes. 

There’s a hole along her shoulder, beneath her shirt, sucking in the fabric when she breathed. Fingers trembling as she reached for one strap and pulled it to the side. Two beady little eyes stared back at her, spitting up the fabric as she parted it from a mouth with teeth and tongue that lead to god knows where. Her hands clasp over her mouth. A sharp gasp and an agonized sound come from her hip, an eye pushing from one of her skin pores like a zit, gawking at her from beneath the hem of her tank. 

The people outside were monsters after only a minute of looking up at the sky. Its gaze still tingling across her skin. Only a minute, a split second glance at whatever it was turning them into something inhuman, obscene, painful looking. Did it still count even if she hadn’t looked?

And if it did, what was ten minutes about to do to her?

Chapter Text

Things had gotten fuzzy in the last few hours. 

No, nothing had actually gotten Fuzzy - except for maybe Ben. He was pretty sure he saw the bear in their room, when mom had left the doorknob with him. Which he found funny because Ben was supposed to be the older brother, wasn’t he? Though he couldn’t do much older brother-ing right now. Must be why mom left him the doorknob. 

He didn’t feel any older. He felt as eight as he did when dad had left for help. Like his sister biting him on the nose. Like when Ben laid down on their bedroom floor, twitching, teeth rising up from where puddles of him began to spread. Which really sucked. Floor teeth had to be so hard to brush. You couldn’t get them over to the sink and people would keep stepping on them - it was a losing battle! And Ben hated to lose. Always got him worked up in army men. 

It made him feel a little less bad about brushing his teeth, looking in the mirror. At least his teeth you could pick up, walk around with. At least they’d stuck to his mouth. Mostly. Mostly… his lungs connected to his mouth - as far as his science teacher had said - so they counted as part of his ‘mouth’ like his throat and nose and eyes did. Maybe not his eyes. But he’d heard dad once grumble about how eyes and dental weren’t covered by some insurance, so maybe they counted too.  

He missed his eye. Seeing hasn’t felt right since he lost it. He could still see but it didn’t feel right. Shapes, vibrations, smell - he felt it when he breathed. The bathroom around him, the water from the sink, felt and saw the bristles when they poked where his eye had been. He still had the one, but Joel knew it would go soon. He could already feel more of them creeping behind it. Teeth on teeth on teeth. Toothpaste stinging optic nerves and against nasal cavities. Bigger words than Joel has the capacity for. 

Maybe he was hoping thinking words like that would make him feel older. Old enough to look after Ben and Molly. Wait for mom and dad to come back from wherever he went. Brush his teeth on time and tuck himself in like a big boy. It was too early for bed, but maybe when he was finally done brushing his teeth, they could all have breakfast together and things would be okay. And Ben could go back to being the big brother. 

Maybe.

Someone was here. 

He smelled him before he saw him in the mirror. Pizza bites and something like old pennies. Like dad too. It was dark enough that for a second, he almost thought it was. But dad didn’t wear purple, and he didn’t look so tired unless mom hadn’t gotten coffee yet and he had to wake up with tea instead. He had messy hair like Joel’s, which Joel especially found funny since he’d been told time and again that everyone had to brush their hair, even adults, or else they’d get full of knots. He must not have gotten the memo. 

Maybe he was just too tired to do it. He sounded like it. His voice was almost too soft to hear, and Joel felt thankful teeth hadn’t grown into his ears (the thought of brushing wax off alone sending a gag around his throat brushing.) He said he was a neighbor, and Joel believed it. Him and mom must have talked sometime in the halls. Or maybe he’d talked with dad? Things were getting fuzzier.

He asked about them. Mom, dad, Ben, his sister… he said something funny about dad, sleeping forever. That can’t have been right since Joel could still smell him - he had to be somewhere. He had to get help. He wouldn’t just leave to go take a nap. That seemed more like something this neighbor would do. Had his 

Mom let him in? Could she? He still had the doorknob. Ben smelled like pennies too. 

His arms were getting tired from brushing. So he sets it down, and watches the man stiffen, and his eyes turn wide - the most awake he’d seen him since he’d entered. Someone had spilled a bunch of ketchup on him. The teeth were pushing out against his eye, pupil splitting, mouth getting wider, wider - stretching like Ben’s did. His little heart hammered in his chest and it pushed against more teeth. He didn’t want this. He was scared. His vision grew fuzzier, his mind wandered, his teeth rattled together as he breathed sharply. This was too much for a kid to take. 

“Fuzzy…” 

And like a magic trick, there he is. Pressed into his hands with the same care as the day mom got it for him. Still smells like dryer lint and mom’s perfume. The teeth in his lungs settle to soft clicks when he breathes, deep through his gaping mouth. “Hhh… you got him…” He can feel the details and see a picture overtime. Soft brown fabric, a pair of black glassy eyes, little plastic nose, still roughed up by the time his sister teethed on it. 

He reaches forward and hugs the man. That’s what you were supposed to do when someone nice did something nice for you. Mom had told him to ask before one time, but she always liked his hugs. Surely most people would too, wouldn’t they?

CRUNCH!

That taste of pennies fills his mouth. It’s wetter somehow, fresher. Like biting into a raw tomato or that chewy bit on the end of a chicken bone. He feels the nice man’s arm around him, holding him as his teeth grind him down, pull him in like the gears of a clock. His hand jerks back, less from will and more from the haphazard jerking of his muscles, pulled deeper into Joel’s small body. He can taste his dad, which feels weird, since he’s not sure how his dad is even supposed to taste. 

Maybe like coffee. And old meat. And spit.

It happens too fast to keep track of. At some point he drops Fuzzy. He’s not sure when. Maybe when trying to get around the neighbor’s shoes. He feels bad because he wasn’t going to be hungry to eat with his family.

Breaths wheezing out of him in fits and spurts. The room comes back into focus. The neighbor is gone. Shame, that. Mom probably would have invited him for breakfast, if she knew he helped with Fuzzy. An alarmed wheeze leaves him, fumbling for the dropped bear. He’s been soaked through, and Joel’s mouth creases when picking up the bear, taking it quickly to the sink. 

“Geez… was Ben - hhh - eating in our room?” Joel said, running cold water through the bear’s short, brown fur. “You got ketchup all - hhh - over you, Fuzzy…” Ketchup was a lot sweeter though. But Joel was still getting over the headache. He wasn’t looking forward to another. He was covered in it too, now that he was thinking a little clearer. There were a lot of tears where the teeth had shredded through the fabric. 

Mom would probably tell him to clean up, just like he cleaned up Fuzzy. There were still clean clothes in the dresser, right? Though that meant he’d have to see Ben before he -

… he couldn’t stay here, could he? He gripped the bear tighter to his chest, wringing it out, lower teeth pinching gently around its head. He wasn’t hungry now, but he would be. Mom was still locked away behind a door he didn’t know how to fix. Dad was gone. She was somewhere in the walls, maybe the floors now. Ben was… Ben probably didn’t have much longer. It made his gut feel funny, though that could have been the neighbor. He was going to get hungry, and if dad couldn’t find help, if mom couldn’t cook, then he needed to take responsibility, didn’t he? Big brother and all. 

Even if the only thing left to be responsible for was himself. Hadn’t mom said something like that when she’d hugged him? Take care of himself? The neighbors weren’t going to do it after all. 

Stepping from the bathroom felt like sneaking out at night for some cheez doodles. Like he wasn’t doing something right. It was a straight shot from the bathroom to the bedroom, and Joel reached out to the wall to steady himself. He could still feel her somewhere in there, teeth grinding against wood, gurgling softly as she crawled between the pipes and insulation. His stomach felt funny again, and he shook his head. She was a big girl too now. She could… take care of herself. She still had mom after all. 

When he stepped into the bedroom, Ben was still up. Army figures scattered around him, his flesh rooted to the middle like he was less of a child and more a fortress for them to defend. The helicopter - his favorite - was still gripped in his hand when he turned to look. “Hi Ben.”

He gurgled something, holding the copter with a wet explosion noise pushing up from his wreck of a throat. 

“Ben, I… I have to go.” He hurried to his dresser. Grabbing his backpack off the bed to start putting clothes into. “I don’t think I should be here anymore.” 

His head - or what remained of it - tilted with the creak of overstretched muscle. 

“A neighbor - hhh - said dad fell asleep. Mom is with Molly, you’re - hhhhh -“ somehow, Joel swallowed. The teeth clenching at his chest like a zipper on a hoodie, then releasing with his next wheeze, “… if I’m… all that’s left, I need to go out, right?” 

Ben didn’t comment. He shook the helicopter at some army men, making quiet shooting sounds. 

Joel stopped packing, looking at his brother. As the new oldest, he had to take responsibility. Mom could still walk around, so could Molly. Ben couldn’t. He couldn’t leave him here to take care of himself, and he couldn’t bring him with. He set the bag down, walking over to his brother. 

He settled across from him, grabbing an army man like he’d done a million times before. Picking blue, rolling in on tanks, encroaching his men to surround Ben’s only for the copter to get the drop on them, tossing them asunder with a gargled blast. He seemed happy, at least, even if he was losing himself more and more. Joel hoped it felt fuzzy like his brain had, but Ben was trembling as he crashed the helicopter, his lone soldier coming out to face the rest of Joel’s men. 

He was scared too. 

“I don’t want to go either.” He clacked an army man down a bit too hard, one of his legs bending at a funny angle, the plastic warping. Whatever Ben had left for eyes looked back at him like pools of spoiled milk, as a hiccup shuddered from Joel. “I can’t help - hhhh - us. I don’t - hhh - I don’t know how.” His shoulders shook, “A neighbor came over. He could - hhh - c-could have helped, and I. I…” 

Ketchup. It was just ketchup. It seemed less believable the more he said it. 

Smelled like bad breath and plastic. The tendril barbed with sharp teeth was gentle though, bringing itself around Joel’s back, meeting in the middle with the helicopter still clutched in Ben’s hands. It was the best hug he could do right now. And this time Joel shut his mouth to return it, as best as he could at least. 

It felt like they held each other for hours, and Joel shushed his teacher’s voice in his head, reminding him of how to read a clock. Ben moved back from him with a softer wheeze. He was getting too tired to hold the helicopter, even though it was his favorite. He pressed it into Joel’s hands instead, and Joel felt like a soldier with his general standing over him, as Ben gave a weak thumbs just like they’d do in the game. 

Fight on, soldier. You’ll blast those bugs out of the sky!

And Joel nodded. Ben didn’t need to say anymore. He couldn’t, but that didn’t matter. “Goodbye, Ben…” 

And just like that, his head began to split, further and further apart. Spreading outwards like a blooming flower. His hands stilled, then went limp, and joined with the growths making up his feet. His milky eyes somehow faded even further, and the back of his skull broke with barely a sound. 

He was gone. 

Joel sat there with him, waiting for the moment his brother might come back. But he’d known when he stepped back here that Ben wasn’t long. Maybe he could even smell death now when breathing through his mouth. It wasn’t a comforting thought. But, like a soldier would, he cut his mourning short to pack his things and change. He opted for his brother’s camouflage hoodie, zipping it so he was sure the teeth on his chest were covered, pulling the hood up. He pulled his backpack over his shoulders, tucked Fuzzy under his arm, and with a final look back, Joel left his bedroom for the last time.

The only thing he left was the doorknob, tucked into the glass dish where mom and dad kept their keys. Maybe someone else could come to help his mom and sister soon. 

Maybe if he told himself that enough, he’d believe it like the ketchup excuse.

Chapter Text

Jeanne took a short drag off the cigarette and felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. Shame it’d be her last one for a while, but she was trying to make it count. And trying to avoid triggering the fire alarm among other things, her kitchen fan ran at full blast. She’d spent the last hour going over her supplies - some chicken that needed to be cooked, frozen vegetables, a bit of fish. Probably some rice in the cupboard and some snacks here and there she could make into something. She actually couldn’t remember if she’d eaten last night, but it wasn’t like she could run to the store right now. Had to conserve.

She really should have grabbed more cigarettes before she got home last night… Lung cancer suddenly wasn’t that big a concern compared to the growths covering her body. So far there were seven of them - shoulder, hip, stomach, breast, hand, right bicep and one on her foot of all things. Topside, not below, which she was silently thankful for. Jeanne lacked the spoons to properly clean the vomit beyond a wipe down and the prospect of stale puke or cleaning solution against her taste buds didn’t sound appealing. Course, Jeanne hadn’t slept great enough to recover so much as a teaspoon.

It had already taken a full day for her to rest after It showed up. Somewhere between the heaving sobs - half vented through foreign mouths - and a hurried self physical, she’d exhausted herself into passing out on the couch, and while her back was hating her for it, it was better than spending the night up in a panic. Which she’d been sorely tempted to. She could have spent another five hours just examining the new faces that had cropped up over her skin, looking back at her with wide, bulbous eyes. 

At least they didn’t have brains, it seemed. Tastebuds, yes. Teeth, definitely. And sometimes if she breathed in too hard, they’d inhale or exhale with her. Weren’t there animals who breathe through their skin? Salamanders and frogs, right? But that was done through pores or something in their slime somehow. Not a fuckton more mouths. 

Suppose she’d gotten off easy though, compared to the folks she’d seen look directly at It. New faces weren’t great but at least her mind was intact. At least beyond being weird and creepy, they didn’t actually do anything. Nothing harmful to her at least. Disorienting? Oh god yes. Their vision wasn’t great but it was doubling, tripling with her own, and she’d had to throw up again just from the dizzying effect. And the mouths themselves sucked at the fabric of whatever she put on, soaking it with drool. She chewed lightly at the filter between her teeth. 

If she went out and someone saw it, someone untouched by the event, they’d freak out. Maybe assuming she was one of the worse off folks or doomed to turn. With the way things had looked outside, people weren’t going to be too keen on trusting each other. If they were in a similar boat, that might give her some advantage, but who’s to say if she even wanted to ally herself with other folks who’d turned? It felt hypocritical and shitty, but she saw what happened to people who looked. Maybe there were some who hadn’t - some who’d only been exposed for a minute or two to It, but she didn’t want to take chances. And true, a lot of this was her being stuck in her own head, but her head felt like a soup kettle, boiling over onto its burner. If she took a deep breath and knuckled down, calmed herself, it simmered down to one thing: she just wanted to be human. Still believe that she was at least that much.

Therefore there was only one solution to tackle this illness. 

Hide it.

She was tempted for a moment to cover it up with a coat from her closet - some old trench coat from her days as an edgier teen. But it had been long then and it was long now, hitting the floor enough to cover her feet. It was doing a good job keeping the faces from drooling on anything, big enough to keep them concealed but not enough to keep much else on underneath. Which made her feel like some sort of weird flasher. Maybe if she had a hat - no, no, that made it worse somehow . That wasn’t gonna cut it. Plus, she liked her clothes. Enough to not want to cover herself in some deflated pleather tent. Especially not if she was going to leave to check around the apartment.

Duct tape wasn’t a permanent solution. She knew as soon as she covered up the first face on her shoulder, biting her lip at the thought of removing it later (a relative had gotten her a brazilian wax coupon as some sort of bizarre holiday gift - a regret she’d carry with her for the rest of her days.) But she didn’t have proper bandages, and she already didn’t have that many options left clothing wise. She wasn’t about to look like a part of the haunted mansion as she went out into the halls to face her imminent doom or delay it past this apocalypse. So, tape.

She double checked it, and the tape held firm to her skin, and had to sit on the bed to adjust. It was strange, taking slower breaths of air, feeling the rest of her skin choking under the gags. Most of them had shut their eyes when she’d put the tape on on reflex, but there was one at her hip that had stuck open, and the sensation of duct tape on her cornea made her own eyes twitch. But after a minute or two settling herself, she went about distracting her mind, pulling her look together to cover up.

Jeanne’s jacket still had some traces of bloody mary clinging to the inner sleeve, knowing she’d meant to wash it before passing out last night, but it and the fingerless gloves still fit her. And it would offer some support should any monster try to bite down on her. She managed to bring in her pants off the line with enough finangling of a broom handle and a slamming of the door before something tried to bash through, flapping off on too many wings to be any sort of bird. She debated, long and hard, over the designer sneakers. But no - even at the end of the world, she was not getting a drop of anything on those. They could have been a down payment on the bike, and the reliable boots by the door would work better, even if they also had bits of tomato juice splashed over them.

By the time she gets her bandanna on, looking herself over in the mirror, she could have passed for someone… normal. Human. Which ignoring the itchy feeling of tape pulling at her skin and the slow sense of suffocation, she could work with. Ugh, though maybe she needed some sort of chapstick while she was out? Her lip was splitting at the top and bottom, and Jeanne drew her hand back before she could pick at it in the mirror. Staring back at herself, fidgeting instead at a stubborn vodka stain on her bandana, her eyes widened in alarm.

That son of a bitch had her bike . 

Jeanne clasped at her face with a groan that turned into a snarl, stepping out of the bathroom with a shake of her head, dropping her arms down at her side. Deep breath, girl. She thought to herself. It’s not like you’d be able to ride it anywhere right now.

But the thought of fucking Rodrick running around with it sure didn’t feel any better!! Even before everything went to hell, she could easily picture him wrapping her baby around a telephone pole after insisting he was good to drive (“I’m just gonna cruise, babe! Won’t even hit the speed limit!”) Jeanne rubbed her face with a groan, taking another breath, “If he’s not dead, I kill him myself. Okay? Okay.” 

Course, if she was killing anyone, she needed something to do it with. The beasts she’d witnessed outside varied in size, but most times you didn’t need size to take someone down. Just needed something with the right amount of heft. A tire iron for the bike would do the job, pulled from its resting spot between the trenchcoat and her helmet.

Her hand lingered at the coat. She said she wouldn’t go for it, but… her stuff was still grody. Maybe someone was still sane out there who could stop by and check on her? Go grab that laundry? There was so much going on outside, it wasn’t safe out there. Jeanne could pull off the tape before it fucked with her skin and settle back in, and hope that a sane neighbor took enough pity on her to check in and see if she needed anything before doing a mad max run for food.

She pivoted, picking up the helmet instead and putting it on. She felt sick, but not that sick yet. And she’d already fucked herself avoiding the dryer yesterday. Between the options of waiting and starving here or encountering some horror out in the hallways, the latter unfortunately seemed like the better call. The tire iron felt like a comforting weight and a reverse spike collar at the same time. 

They weren’t human anymore. If they attacked, it was on them. Jeanne told herself, her hand lingering on the handle. She tried not to wonder about what that made her, stepping into the hall. 

What she saw in that hallway shocked her to her core.

It was… normal. Alarmingly so. The lighting was the same dim bulbs Mr. Henderson cheaped out on. The hardwood was the same dull color it usually was. Not a lick of a bloodied body or creature stalking the halls like she’d prepared herself for. There was Lyle’s apartment across the hall from hers. With the same welcome mat and same tarnished brass numbers on the door. And beyond the strange lights coming through the blinds by the stairwell, everything seemed calm from her doorway.

It was all so normal in fact, that she almost didn’t notice the wizard standing at the other side of the hall. 

Jeanne blinked twice, her eyelid twitching from the weird eye scraping at her hip, approaching with caution, the tire iron clear at her size just in case Dingus the Magnificent tried anything. Though, that felt a touch mean. The guy didn’t seem to be causing any harm, just covered in a thick robe that obscured everything but the blue of his eyes behind the hood. Still had a head, two eyes, two arms. Hopefully two legs, but the jury was out with the way the robe laid on him. He was talking into a walkie talkie, the line on the other end too garbled to hear, though his own voice came clear enough. 

“I don’t know, I feel like… something was supposed to happen by now?… part of the dream, maybe. I could’ve sworn I was alone in it though. It’s strange…” He glances behind him, then looks again, switching off the talkie and turning with his hands up, “Ah salutations, I’m sane, I  assure you. No need for any conflict between us.” His eyes were trained down on her tire iron, and she loosened her grip, but didn’t let go of it. 

“Uh… hey. That’s good?”

“Oh, Jeanne? Is that you, dear girl?” 

Oh lord, he was a neighbor, wasn’t he? Jeanne was terrible at remembering her neighbors. Lyle was the one exception - the man too friendly to forget once he got to know you. But the rest on floor two? We're drawing a complete blank on Jeanne’s mind. She might be justified given the last forty-eight hours, but that he remembered her definitely meant they'd met before. “Heyyyyyy, yeah, it’s uh… it’s Jeanne. It’s good to see… you… still kicking around…?” 

He blinked, and even though she couldn’t see his face, she got the sense he was unamused. “Right, it is a relief, all things considered.” Folding his arms together, he glanced Jeanne up and down, and she shifted one foot in front of the other - not that he could see through her boot, mind you, even if it felt like he could. “… You completely forgot about me -“ 

“Okay, listen -“ Jeanne tapped the tire iron against her calf in a nervous fidget, “- Think we can both agree that there’s more important things to worry about than me forgetting one name.” 

“Quite, you make a fair point.” Then, squinting at her, he tucked his sleeves so the openings were pressed against each other, “Yet I somehow remembered yours-“ 

“OKAY -“ Jeanne squinted at him, shoving the scraping feeling of that eye into the back of her mind, her other hand going into her jacket pocket, “…Sssssssssaaaaaam…?” 

“Aster.” He said, entirely deadpan. “It’s Aster.” 

“SO -“ She lightly thumped the tire iron again, “You uh. Are you just taking in the atmosphere in the hall here? In your uh -“ Don’t call it a wizard robe don’t call it a wizard robe don’t call it a wizard robe - “- Snuggie?” Close enough. 

“I’m not just ‘taking in the atmosphere’ -“ he said, raising from the sleeves to make quotation marks with his fingers, “I’m conducting research with my colleagues. As for the Snuggie - this material is thick enough to blot out the rays from the Visitor outside. I’ve made sure to close the blinds in the halls here, but you can never be too careful about any sort of exposure!”

That got Jeanne’s attention. So It had a name? Or a title, at least. Suddenly she was feeling dressed for the occasion rather than overdressed for the apocalypse. More importantly - did this guy know about it? What it does? “So… you know about what’s going on outside?” 

“Yes. Unfortunately.” Aster seemed to grow pensive, tucking his hands back into his sleeves, “I didn’t look directly, of course. Doing anything outside without the proper protection, well… it doesn’t end well.” 

Anything, huh? 

“Luckily, this level seems to be safer than some of the others. If there are any witnesses to the event, they’ve either moved on to other floors or stuck to their own quarters in the meantime.” 

She took a breath, steadying her already frayed nerves. “Yep! That’s uh. Probably for the best, I imagine.” For a second, she wondered if she should have done the same. Hopefully this was the worst it got, right? Right… “You’re doing research?” She didn’t have to ask what on.

“In a sense. We’re a group of astronomers, trying to uncover the Visitor’s true origin. Why did it pick us to set its gaze upon? What is its purpose in coming here?” He rubbed his chin, “To find this out, we need to appeal to it. Specific articles depicting it’s -”

“So you’re not trying to get rid of it.”

He stared back at her oddly, “Well… it should be leaving within fifteen days, if our contact was accurate… So there’s no need to make it -”

“Listen, Aster?” Jeanne took a breath through her nose and let it out, very slowly. The idea of trying to communicate with a Thing in the sky that had turned dozens, if not hundreds of thousands of people into monsters outside made her want to scream at him. It felt stupid after what she’d seen, and it sounds like for as much as he knew, he didn’t grasp the full picture. He probably didn’t have a single mutation to his name under there. She’d bet money on that. But Jeanne had been good before about biting her tongue, and now more then ever, needed to get that agreeable side of her back in shape. “Do you know… anything about the other floors? Could someone reach them right now?”

“Hm…” Aster rubbed his chin, or whatever was in there beyond the darkness of his cloak. “I haven’t heard much about floor one, though I have heard something about a shortcut to it via this floor. Our leader, Jasper, is on the ground floor right now. He has not reported much activity yet, but it could change as the days go on. In the meantime, he has sealed stairwell access to it, likely for the safety of the upper floors.”

Ugh, so much for grabbing laundry. A shortcut sounded promising though. Even if she wanted to go downstairs even less than before. The only things really motivating her down was the basket of laundry that hopefully no one had swiped… and her bike, if that bastard had managed to make it back last night. “Okay, shortcut then. Where is it?” 

“Let’s see… ah! I believe it is close to us. Apartment twenty-one.” 

Lyle’s place??? Jeanne couldn’t remember there being any sort of shortcut in his apartment, but at least she knew she could get in and look for herself. Lyle had been a good neighbor so far, and was easy enough to talk to when she’d needed to vent or listen to his woes about his crush getting canned at work. So she nodded to Aster, adjusting her tire iron in her grip, “I’ll give it a look. Thanks Astrid - “ 

“Aster.” 

“Yep, got it Asteroid.” She was already stepping to the apartment, and knocked on the door. 

… no reply. 

She knocked again. 

If she strained her ears, she could hear something within the apartment. A strange sort of clicking and skittering, with the distant giggles of a voice within the apartment. The voice sounded like Lyle’s, though the rest of it… hopefully the guy was still okay. Jeanne knew what the door would hold, but still gave a disappointed look when the handle didn’t budge. Made sense - why keep an apartment unlocked on the best of days, let alone when there could be anything skulking through the halls. “Lyle?? It’s Jeanne, you in there??”

Nothing. She could still hear a voice from somewhere deep inside, but if they heard her, they sure weren’t acting like it.

Fantastic. 

Worst still is that guy in the robe was still watching her, his arms folded, judging her. At least the helmet meant he couldn’t tell where her own gaze went. Meant she could give him the stink eye before shaking her head. She turned her gaze towards the rest of the hall. Lyle wasn’t her only neighbor after all. Maybe someone else here could help out? Even if she didn’t know their names exactly. Aster wasn’t much help, but there was a mom and her kid on this floor. They could probably use supplies, or had some to spare. There was that other guy down the hall, what was it? Eustace? Something like that. There was another gal on this floor but Jeanne had barely seen her normally - she must work a lot. And beyond them, well… Huh.

Part of the hallway was darker then normal, like the ceiling had cracked in on itself, cutting off access to the elevator. If she squinted, something metal glinted back at her. Something drew her to that glimmer in the dark. Something about a call to adventure came to mind and was quickly dismissed. This was a matter about survival, not a quest item from one of Lyle’s tabletop books. And even if Aster had claimed the halls on floor two were safe, something could come bursting out behind that rubble or bash one of those doors open at any second. Her mind trails once more to the flood of manicured fingers broaching through the salon doors. She gripped the tire iron in both hands now, taking a cautious approach. 

Each door she passes is quiet and still, identical barring one - apartment twenty-three. The mystery woman. Boards had been hastily nailed to the front of it, cutting off whoever was inside from accessing the rest of the complex. Right, Aster had said this floor was safer. He hadn’t said it was safe , had he?

She swallows her nerves, hands clenching around the cool metal, and lowers her gaze. A key lies at the foot of the rubble, and Jeanne blinks down at it, a soft ‘huh’ leaving her lips. It looked like the same kind she used for her own apartment, with a keychain of some obscure roleplaying game guy on it. She couldn’t place why for a second, but the vague sense of it looking like someone else came to mind. Hadn’t she seen something like this before? 

“Hey, this your crush?”

“GAH! W-what?? It’s not-”

“Lets see - broad, brooding, spiked up hair - isn’t that how you-”

“N-no! No! He looks-...”

“He totally looks like this. Though the scarf is new -”

“He does NOT- Look, see?? Nothing alike!”

“... So you just keep a photo of you guys as your background all the time or-”

“HEY - I - I-if I buy it, will you get off my case??”

“Oh so now you want to buy it-”

“Okay LISTEN-”

Jeanne shook off the memory, her fingertips poking lightly against the spiky hair of the figurine. Right, her and Lyle had found this at some sort of comic shop. One of the few times they’d actually hung out outside the apartment …Shame that might not happen anymore. There probably wouldn’t be any comic shops or bars to go to. The rest of his campaign would be forgotten and tossed aside to fall to dust without players to navigate it. No grocery stores, only canned food rations and home grown vegetables. Were her parents even okay? She hadn’t talked to them in years, but they’d tended to be homebodies when she’d last spoken. Would that have saved them? Did it matter if they’d made it if so many others were about to -

BANG!

Jeanne jumped two feet, brandishing the tire iron at the door, jabbing the keys into her jacket pocket. Something scraped against the wood, breathed and snorted at the grain from inside. Another loud BANG! And the door rattled on its hinges, straining outwards and snapping back, like a dog pulled on too tight a leash. Safer, not safe. Did Aster know what was in here enough to board the door? More important: did she want to find out?

BAM! 

Nope, definitely not.

She turns on her heel and starts walking, then sprinting down the hall. The banging behind her gets louder, snarling now seeping out from apartment twenty-three. The air felt heavier somehow, as if the thing trying to break out was somehow breathing down her neck. She passed apartment twenty one, then ran past it again. And again. Cold sweat pricked her neck, hairs standing on end as the hallway darkened and she broke into a run. The sound of something heavy crashed through the hall at her back and she didn’t bother trying to look. She knew what it was. Something like the monsters outside, its heavy footfalls beginning to thump after her, its heavy breaths turning the air muggy and stifling. The hallway grew somehow longer, wood boards stretching, splintering beneath her feet, cracking into an impossible abyss that stretched around and beneath her.

Her brain worked through every curse she could remember, her lungs burning from exertion, and her vision tunneled in towards the one pinprick of light in the distance growing wider and wider. She didn’t look, but she knew the thing was right on top of her. If she got to the light, maybe she’d be safe again. But hadn’t the light done this? How could she be so sure? There was a rush of air as a heavy, clawed hand tried to swipe at her. It caught on the back of her jacket, shoving her off kilter, and her foot caught on the edge of one of those gaps in the floor. The sharp edge of a splintered board jabbed through, stabbing the eye on her foot.

Instinct took over. She screamed, tripping to land on her stomach with the wind knocked out of her, covering one of her eyes as it watered in imaginary pain. The tire iron clattered just out of reach, clacking against a pistol and a box of ammo lying on the floor, where that once comforting exit was. Aster was nowhere in sight - had this been his? No time. No time no time. Sweat and tears leaked around the seals of tape on her body, and she hurriedly dragged herself towards that light, desperate to get some distance between her and her hunter.

The beast actually giggled at her struggle. “Awww, heehehee, that’s cute .” Its paw was double the size of Jeanne’s torso, its fingernails turned claws clasping down around her shoulders, yanking her back across the floor. Pulling itself along with her. Hot, heavy weight closed in along her legs, and Jeanne fumbled, half blind for something to defend herself with. Her fingers managed to snag the gun instead of her iron, dragging it with her as the thing grinned down at Jeanne.

Grinning seemed to be the main thing it could do. Its misshapen lump of a body covered with yawning mouths of grinning human teeth, every wild eye focused squarely on its catch. Hands spilled from its jaws to grab at her, trying to yank her into one of the gaping openings, laughing like a fiend. “Cmon, heheheehee. Struggle. Make it worth my while, heehehheee!”

Jeanne was trying, thrashing in its grip. Its heavy paw sat like an iron weight on her chest, still out of breath from the chase, and she tried smacking at it with the butt of the gun. She might as well have used a flyswatter on a blue whale for all the good it did her, as it continued to drag her towards its gaping maw. Smaller hands reaching out, wrapping around her, investigating every inch as they pulled her even further towards her waiting doom.

Jeanne shut her eyes as its rancid breath passed over her, slowing her struggle, the unloaded gun loose in her shaking hand. Well, if she was going to die, at least it was going to be while she was still human enough to realize it.

“Awwww, giving up so soon?” It’s grins turned to grimaces, stretching its drooling jaws further apart, “Disappointing-” Its creeping hand brushed against her neck, starting to push her jacket off her shoulders, “Well, heehee, least I’ll get this sick jacket for-” She didn’t open her eyes, but another pair opened near her throat, the mouth snapping open and biting down hard on the probing hand. The beast’s eyes widened, and it leaned over Jeanne, investigating her with a more critical eye. The mouth kept biting down, much as Jeanne wanted it not to, the taste of blood filling her mouth and making her gag, the colder taste of torn flesh dominating her tongue. Why oh why the fuck did she need to taste what they did?? A minute passed, and the thing smiled at her, “Ohhhh, I knew it. I could smell it on you.” The floorboards creaked as it leaned close, eye pressing against her visor. “You looked , didn’t you?” 

Its paw moved off of Jeanne and she flipped onto her back, hurrying backwards in a crab crawl. She’d only loaded a gun a handful of times, and right now was not the best time for a refresher. Shaking fingers struggling to get any bullets to actually line the chamber. Her other hand clasped tight around the mouth at her neck, pressing tight. Every hard breath leaking from the new hole on her neck in a way that made her chest tightened. Yet the beast wasn’t trying to go after her. It sat there, not unlike a toad, a shine to its yellowed eyes by the time Jeanne had finally loaded a round and took aim, shaky finger resting by the trigger, “D-don’t. Don’t come any closer!”

“Relax -” The beast huffed and held up four of its mighty arms, blinking slowly, its mouth widening into a smirk that made its lower lids crinkle, “- right now you’re just a guppy. I don’t fight guppies, heheehehee…” It settled on its haunches, eyes seeming to shimmer in the dark, slowly stepping back into the shadows, “You know where to find me, heeheeheeee… come back when you’re a shark heehee… we can have some real fun then.”

Jeanne kept the pistol held until the thing had crawled back where it came, till the whites of its eyes had turned back into that pitch black shadow that had enveloped the halls. She lowered the gun, a centimeter at a time, until finally letting her arm go slack. Taking the chance to breathe. She was shaken up and her foot hurt like hell, but she was alive. Somehow. And the horror of the situation dawned on her as she grabbed the remaining ammo and her tire iron.

It spoke to her. Clear, concise sentences. It had almost eaten her, but it could communicate and reason enough to let her go. Wait and see what she’d become.

Before now, it felt like just turning into a monster was the worst thing that could happen to her. At least there was the comfort that she likely wouldn’t realize it, her mind deteriorating into vicious mush. But if that thing could be so massive, so grotesque, and still let her go because it wanted a challenge more than a meal… Who's to say if she’d lose her mind at all? If she wouldn’t stay thinking how she did now, stuck in a body she knew was wrong, yet couldn’t control? After all, she hadn’t made that mouth bite down. 

Was that worse or better than the alternative?