Chapter Text
TW: Cannon typical: violence, profanity, suicidal ideation, body horror, delusions
Footsteps thudded against the sidewalk, heavy and uneven as the beating of your heart in your chest. The house shone through the darkness, temptingly close. It was just a little farther – if you could reach the house, you’d be safe. Only if you reached the door before the naked amalgamation of what was once a human caught up to you. It’s hollow, wet huffs became drowned out by your own pants and gasps as adrenaline was the only thing keeping your body moving. Your muscles strained and tensed, each time your foot hit the ground feeling like the ankle-shattering shocks of jumping from far too high shivering through your skeleton.
Your whole face stung from the sheer terror alone.
The thing’s hands and feet slapped against the pavement at your heels. Each slap echoed, a result of having skin too loose for its frame. God, was it an ugly bitch.
The house, in spite of how close it appeared, felt miles away. A symphony of crickets and sweat mingled in the air, weighing you down. Ribs screaming for relief, you continued to charge on anyway and hoped that your body would hold on just long enough to get inside. Assuming the door was even going to open.
And that was just it, wasn’t it? Doubts on whether this was even worth the effort began to creep into your mind as the creature skinned your ankles with its ungodly long fingernails. Pain seared up your leg and through your spine, hot and blinding. “No, don’t!’ You sobbed out. Not that it would do any good. Not that you’d even meant for it to have an effect. It was just one of those things people said in a moment of panic – not because it affected the outcome, but because saying it brought them some amount of relief. It put them back in control, at least in their minds, and that was all anything was really ever about – being satisfied with their viewpoint, no matter where the reality stood.
Slab after slab of cracked, weed-infested concrete passed under your feet before the house finally became a tangible object. Reaching a hand out as you ran, awaiting the sweet contact of the wooden railing to meet with our hand, you got the last little surge of adrenaline you needed to make the final leap.
The railing finally met with your flesh, harsh and piercing, and you used it to spin around and clamber up onto the porch, tripping and scraping your knee on one of the steps. A weak gasp slid from your lips. You pushed yourself up and rammed through the (thankfully) unlocked door, slamming it shut behind you. The vibration echoed shook the walls of the house and knocked your legs out from under you, sending you backwards into the floor.
Sobs wracked your frame as the creature crashed into the door, beginning to scratch at it like a desperate dog. Scratchy screams splintered through the wood, uttering cryptic messages of warning that you were in too much of a panic to pay any attention to as you bled out on the floor.
Its whispers morphed into wails – loud and grief-stricken. But why would you listen to something that had massacred your friends, not to mention chased you for a mile only moments ago? You didn’t care. You were angry. If you had half a mind and a good enough opportunity, you’d just shoot the damn thing,
Chest heaving, you pushed yourself into a sitting position and looked around. The place looked lived in - though the inhabitants you once knew were long gone.
This was Evans house. And being here again only made you feel emptier than you had before.
The Hybrid guys had befriended you back in high-school, and you'd been with them until the very end. That's when Habit decided to go ahead and keep you as a pet.
Cautiously, you made your way through the house, not wanting to alert the current residents. Going back outside to the creature Habit had stuck on you wasn’t an option, either, so you just had to hope you could hide out unnoticed by some miracle. Hell - what would you even say to whoever was living in Evan's place now if they asked what you were doing in their house? "Hey my friend used to live here before everyone got fucking slaughtered by monsters, speaking of which..." ? Yeahhh... it was best to avoid them, and even better if they just weren't home.
The trek to the bathroom was dizzyingly familiar. Bile rose in your throat. So many memories stained this house - good and bad, but all of them were tainted with blood and misery anymore. It made you sick.
Finally reaching the bathroom, you turned on the squeaky faucet and splashed water up your arms. The blood and dirt refused to come off. It didn't matter how hard you scrubbed, it didn't matter that you scrubbed until you bled more. The grime stayed put.
A sob shook your frame. You were so exhausted. After everything, it wasn't worth putting effort into fighting so hard anymore, but you had no choice. You weren't allowed to escape, you weren’t allowed to die.
Dread lingered in the edges of your already spinning mind while you tried to quietly wash up, keeping you conscious. However, it was quickly apparent that this just wasn’t gonna cut it, and since the creature had stopped wailing at the door (hopefully having gone away) and nobody had noticed your jarring entry, you decided to take your chances with a shower.
Each step was a painstaking excursion as you worked your way upstairs, that same sinking pit in your stomach still eating away at you. The ghosts of your friends whispered just out of reach each step of the way. It was like the house hadn't changed at all. It would’ve been hardly surprising to see Jessa pop out and call you down for dinner.
You slipped into the master bedroom to find some clothes, as the ones you were in were the last thing you wanted on a freshly cleaned body. The master bedroom was almost exactly as you'd remembered it - you were sure that even the sheets on the bed were Evan's, but it had been so long that you brushed it off as misremembering. It was understandable that you'd misremember things from so long ago, especially after all you'd been through. Digging through the dresser you pulled out a familiar shirt - Evan's old Motorhead T-shirt. You choked, suddenly flooded with grief and anger. What were these jackasses doing with Evan's stuff? It must have just been left whenever the house was reclaimed, and the lazy freeloaders took advantage of it.
Your feelings were unreasonable, but you couldn't help it. All this stuff belonged to Evan. Your Evan.
Not a stranger taking his place.
You took the shirt and went back down to the bathroom and got the shower running while you stripped down. The clothes stuck to some of your injuries and had been fastened to your skin with the dried blood, making the process take far longer than you’d wanted. How long would it be before someone came in here and found you all because you were wasting time unzipping your clothes from your flesh. Finally stepping in the shower, you let out a long sigh.. The hot water hitting your back was like heaven.
The only soap that was in there was some Men's 3 in 1, and you wasted no time washing out your hair. You were tempted to go ahead and cut it while you were here. Habit would be mad, sure, but at least it wouldn't give him something you grab onto and yank you around. You were convinced that was the reason he'd prevented you from cutting it. Or the freak just had a thing for long hair. You ended up not deciding against that – now that the adrenaline had worn off, your body grew slow and achy.
It was like you were 5 pounds lighter, finally getting all that grime off. You weren't sure how long it had been since youd had a shower. Habit had stopped paying the water bill ages ago. Your soapy fingers delicately traced the large scars that traced up and down the length of your abdomen. Habit's doing, of course, and by now you could hardly remember what you looked like without them.
You still didn't feel clean, and you weren't sure you would ever feel clean again. Your skin was raw from scrubbing and not a spec of filth remained, but you just couldn't convince your brain that you were clean.
Eventually the shower water ran cold, and you you got out no sooner than the heat was undeniably gone. Quickly drying off and tossing Evan's shirt on. For a second, you could almost imagine that everything was a bad dream. None of the past few years had ever happened, it was just some bad dream and you were back at your boyfriends house. The pain and scars didn't let you dream too much, though.
You carefully tiptoed downstairs, a habit you'd developed a long time ago, and made your way into the dining room and took a seat at the table. Resting your face against the wood, you let out a long sigh. There was no point in trying to run or hide, from the monsters or the owners of the house. It wouldn't change the outcome, anyway. Whether or not you die, Habit would just come collect you again. And who was to say that the people in this house weren't already dead? He very well could have killed them and planned to chase you back in here to toy with you again. That was easy to imagine him doing, he'd done much worse.
The ringing in your ears grew in the silence, trying to drown out the thoughts you didn't have in the first place. Your mind was empty as you laid there, clinging to the tiny bit of rest you could get in the moment. It wouldn't be long before the silence ended and you would be right back where you were an hour ago.
It was hard to determine how much time you'd spent there - minutes, hours, you weren't sure. But as soon as you heard the front door unlock, a soft sob shook your body. You kept your head against the table, bringing your arms around to hide your face. There was no fighting, no winning, only acceptance of the inevitable. You knew that.
Boots met with the hardwood of the dining room and stomped over to you, lingering just a step away. "...Y/N...?" A familiar voice asked.
The bastard was using his voice again. His body, his house, his things, his voice. Worse than death was being utterly replaced.
"Holy shit, hey- hey, what's wrong?" The man scrabled to pull out a chair to sit beside you, resting a hand on your back.
You shook your head in response, falling limp.
"Im gonna need you to give me something to go off of here," he whispered, beginning to rub gentle circles into your back with his thumb. "You're scaring me a little."
Who did he think he was, putting you back in Evan's home and Evan's clothes then pretending to comfort you?
"You bitch," you hissed at him. It was only half-hearted. Was it because he wore your boyfriend like a fur coat, or because you were too tired of his shit, or... had you just given into the reality that you belonged to Habit?
A brief silence followed.
"...what'd I do." He asked dumbly.
Your head snapped to him, looking him over. Your guts clenched and wormed in your abdomen. He sure as fuck looked like Evan.
Over time Evan's body had taken on a new look, one more befitting of Habit. But the man in front of you looked the same as your boyfriend long before any of the horrors had started. And god, did that hurt.
"Im tired of this game." You cried weakly. "Please, please just kill me and get this over with. We'll go for burgers in the morning, whatever you want. Just please..."
The man shifted a little. It was so much meeker and softer than Habit. "You're hurting 'cause of me?" He asked, tilting his head. He seemed somewhat remorseful.
Your head screamed. It was just another sick game, you knew that. Evan was dead - or worse. You didnt actually know which. Either way, he was gone, leaving a gaping, festering wound on your soul. Even still, even knowing the parasite that had eaten its way into your life, you still wanted to fall into his arms. Forget whether or not it was Habit if this was the closest thing to Evan you'd ever get.
"You know that." You sniffled. "Don't even pretend."
The man leaned over and rested his face on your shoulder, moving his hand on your back to totally wrap around you and pull you into his chest. He was warm and soft, and it was hard to not just sink into him.
"God, I'm sorry. Please stop crying." He pleaded. "I don't know what I did, but I promise I'd never hurt you intentionally. Tell me about it, please?"
A wave of emotions washed over you, suffocating. This was sick and cruel. It was horrible. But there was still an undeniable bliss to the moment. It was everything you wanted, and your worst nightmare all at once. You jerked away from him, knocking the chair out from under yourself and stumbling over it as you hurried over to the doorway. You couldn't bring yourself to leave, but you needed... something. Space from him. To feel in control of yourself. Just something.
The man's gase followed you, albeit a little shocked.
You wrapped your arms around yourself. "You've won, just give up. I don't care anymore, do whatever." Tears rolled down your face, burning your skin that was already raw from the shower.
The man stood from his chair, holding his hands up in an attempt to show he wasn't a threat. He didn't come any closer than where he was. "Was it something I did esterday at the lake? I know I was up your ass and a bit more... over the top than need be, but-"
"What?"
"That's not what youre upset about?"
"No, I mean," you shook your head. "Yesterday? The lake?"
He nodded slowly in response, as if it should have been obvious. "Yeah, we went with Jeff, Alex Vinnie, and Jessa? Alex wanted to take Sparky out for her birthday?"
You burst into laughter. It wasn't funny. It wasn't fucking funny. "I remember, way back in 2009. You're hilarious, aren't you?" You brought your hands you your face, digging your fingers into your flesh.
"It is 2009." He stated. "Do you wanna go to the ER? I dont get whats going on." There was no malice in his question, it was just concern. The same blunt concern Evan had always shown.
"That was sixteen years ago, Habit." You hissed. Anger boiling up to the back of your throat. It was everything ough to choke on. "You think I don't know your tricks? You think I'm some damn goldfish, do you?"
Evan stared at you a second before seeming to habe some realization and he visibly relaxed. "Ohhh, this is a prank! That's good - that's real good, ya got me!" He laughed and went over to pick up the chair you'd knocked over, sliding it back into its place under the table. "While you're here we could order a pizza, play the new Call of duty? Haven't even played with with Vin yet - you'd be the first." He wiggled his eyebrows at you.
You remembered that game. Evan had talked about it for months before even getting his hands on it, and once he did he was obsessed.
Habit had always been good at mocking Evan, thanks to centuries of practice, but once you knew Habit as intimately as a lover (or, his own fucked up semse of that), you could easily see through the illusion. There was always something leaking from the seams that was far more dangerous and predatory than Evan was capable of being. Little movements that didnt quite match up. A sense of ownership of everyone around him that Evan certainly lacked. Some of his memories were out of order, or forgotten entirely.
Habit was good, but was he really this good?
There wasn't anything you could do now, you were paralyzed. Stuck to just stand there and cry while you stared at him. Maybe believing that somehow you'd gotten him back was just sentencing yourself to more misery. But it was hard not to, and was it worth giving up a potential opportunity? What if this really was Evan and you never got to see him after this? How would you forgive yourself for passing it up?
"Y/N...?" Evan asked, realizing that whatever was happening wasn't a joke. That you were really upset. It wasnt a surprising realization- The grief bled out from every pore, impossie to ignore. "Talk to me."
"Evan," you choked out. "Oh my God. Its been sixteen years. Sixteen." Your whole body was shaking violently.
"Hun, I saw you yesterday." He cooed gently. "You keep saying sixteen years, does that.... I dunno, mean something else?"
You shook your head. "No, Evan. 2009 was sixteen years ago. You... you died, or something, six years ago."
"Or something...? Died? Are you on drugs?" He asked. He looked scared. Last time you saw him so scared was when his friends bowels were spilled all bloody over his hands.
"Im not on drugs." You snapped. "I have spent the last six years grieving you - I have spent the last six years in hell."
His face twisted into that of discomfort and worry. "God, what happened to you... look, how about we just-"
You stumbled and your back hit the wall, taking your hands into your hair. It was foreign, how soft and clean it felt. Your head spun. You couldn't feel your legs.
"Woah!" Evan yelped and crossed the small room in a few quick strides and grabbed your arm. Knowing Evan it was only meant to be comforting, he was only trhing to support you, but that wasn't the norm anymore. You panicked and jerked back, causing your feet to slide out from under you. You hit the floor with a loud thud - it was definitely gonna bruise. But what's one more, anyway? You didn't care, and you didn't think you could. Eventually, upon being subjected to a constant barrage of injury and malice, there comes a point where a person is adjusted to it and their focus shifts. It's no longer about each individual cut or mark, but instead the point of view becomes that of the whole picture. A large gouge would be itchy and sharp and just generally miserable, but what did that matter if it had no otherwise long lasting affects?
Evan tried to catch you, but he only managed to grab your (his) shirt, which pulled it up as you tried to squirm away from his grip. You flipped yourself onto your belly and dug your fingers into the floor, trying to pull yourself away.
Curses splattered from Evan's lips and he ended up sitting on you to prevent your pabivked squirming, holding you in place. "Why the fuck are you cut up like Thanksgiving ham?" He asked, voice thin. You didnt have to look on his face to know the horrified look he had on.
You stopped fighting and went linp underneath him. There was no point, he had you pinned down.
His fingers met with your hair and brushed it out of your face -gently, reverently. "You're all messed up..." He sounded nearly broken himself, like seeing you shatter was all it would take for him to shatter alongside you.
You melted into his touch, wanting desperately to cry but you were far too tired now. If you even had tears left to spill, anyway. "Evan." You rasped, pulling an arm back to intertwine your fingers with his that were in your hair. "I need you." You hiccuped. "Please, please... Evan..."
He got off you and sat in the floor, pulling you up as well and bringing you up against his chest. It wasn't clear if he was shaking from how hard he was squeezing you or from his current emotions. "I swear, whoever did this to you is getting their hands stuck in a goddamn woodcutter." He seethed. "Think you can just go around hacking at people. They're fair fuckin' game at this point. Motherf-"
"Its really you, right?" You asked him desperately, interrupting his angsty ramblings and peering up at his face. You could only imagine how wrecked you must have looked to him, who only knew the spunky unharmed 20 year old you from what now seemed a millennia ago.
"Well, yeah." Evan nodded. "Who else would I be?"
It was half expected for him to just burst out laughing, revealing himself to be Habit. But this... it felt too real to not be Evan for sure. It was the only thing that made sense.
You flung your arms around his neck - pulling him into a kiss, half-concepted and messy. He tensed initially, but ended up melting into your lips.
What were you supposed to say? What was there to say? There weren't really any words good enough to describe all that you were feeling. It was like standing up on a windy cliff - full of thrill and adrenaline and fear, but the view was good enough to eat.
Evan's face was flushed bright red when you pulled away and you sank back against his chest, eyes screwed firmly shut. "I was so scared, Ev." It came out in a whimper.
He brought a hand up to rub your back, giving you the same worried look. He seemed so confused and scared himself. "Are ya sure you don't wanna go to the hospital?"
"No." you breathed, burying your face into his chest. Sleep clawed at your consciousness, dragging you into the inky blackness. It had been forever since you'd felt safe enough to actually relax, comfortable enough to truly sleep - and now you just couldnt fight it off. "No, I'm okay." You murmured, slipping off.
When you woke up, sunlight was blazing through the window. It left you hot and sticky, not to mention half blind, so you rolled over to get away from it. You were wrapped up in Evan's sheets. He must have moved you here last night.
You buried your face in his pillows, inhaling his scent like an addict. It was everywhere, fresh and strong. You had clung onto one of his sweaters back with Habit, but it had lost its scent long ago and left you holding onto a dingy, smelly scrap of bloodstained fabric. This was different, and so much better than you remembered.
All your cuts and bruises ached like hell. It was a miracle none of them were infected, honestly.
The door cracked open slightly, you jumped in response. He was coming for you. He was coming mock you and punish you, and it was gonna *hurt*.
Evan stepped into the room, smile on his face. "Hey, you’re awake,"
His smile held and unholy malice, eyes glittering with violent glee as he strode into the room. Gore littered his teeth, bits of vessels and tissue stuck between them. You had no idea if it was yours from the last time he’d gotten his hands on you or someone else’s.
No. It was still Evan. Or just Evan. Only him.
His face was soft and caring, nothing more. There was no blood, no gore, and he’d never touched you with the intention of harm. He’d never do that.
"Hey." You croaked, pushing yourself into a sitting position.
Evan came over and sat on the bed beside you, running his hands through your hair and fingerings the tangles out. "This is long as fuck - what is it, a wig, or extensions? Or whatever those are called..."
"He made me grow it out. I think he had something to do with letting it get this long." You murmured, leaning into his touch.
Evan's face scrunched up a little, but he tried to hide it. "Who did?"
"Habit." You replied bluntly. Hadn't you told him?
"Who's Habit, Hun?" He pushed, still combing through your hair. "Is that who cut you up?"
Tears welled up in your eyes. "After you died, he kept me in his house and used me as his little toy. Evan, it was so horrible..."
Evan's other hand came up to your cheek."I didn't die, I'm here. Right here."
Why wasn't he getting it? You were explaining loud and clear, weren't you?
"You did - or, you do. In ten years. I mean-" shit. Maybe you shouldn't be telling him all this. Who wants to have their inevitable death hanging over their head for ten years? You could feel your face pale dramatically. "Im sorry, Evan, I didn't mean... I shouldn't have told you."
Evan let out a long sigh. He was growing frustrated, though you could tell he was doing his best not to be. "Okay, tell me how I die."
You shook your head, laughing softly. This must sound totally insane. Your girlfriend - or well, friend at this point in time, suddenly showing up way different and messed up, sobbing about how you die in ten years? That's just nuts. "It doesn't matter."
His hands stayed on your face, tracing delicate shapes into the skin. "Tell me how I die." He asked again.
After a moment of hesitation, you sighed. "I don't know. All I know is that one day Habit took over, and you just didn't come back."
"...took over?" He tilted his head. "Like, took over the house...?"
"Your body." You explained.
Evan pulled away and stood up, an action that felt as sharp as any blade Habit had ever taken to you.
"Okay." He chuckled. "We're gonna get you some breakfast and take you down to the hospital, alright?"
"Evan, no." You shook your head, balling up the sheets in your hands. "Im not insane, you have to believe me-"
"Pancakes." He interrupted harshly. "Pancakes. For breakfast. Get dressed and come downstairs." The door slammed shut behind him, the final straw to knock the tears loose from your eyes. They spilled down your cheeks, hot and salty, while you curled up around yourself in his bed. You weren't crazy, you knew that.
The realization began to settle in that you may have gotten him back, while he had only lost you.
<-- Evan's POV -->
Evan stalked down the steps and into the kitchen, flinging open cabinets and drawers as he collected all he needed.
He was shaking while he worked. Somebody had done something to you in the time between the afternoon at the lake and last night, and they'd messed you up bad. It hurt. It scared him. He felt totally out of control in the situation - he'd never realized that in a single moment he could lose everything, without a say.
His only hope was that when you went to the hospital they would figure it out and fix you. Preferably in record time, they'd find some way to return you to normal and heal you. He'd fix this if it was the last thing he did.
Plus - You'd kissed him. Holy fuck, you'd actually kissed him. He figured it was just from being so happy to be safe and have a familiar face after whatever had gone down, and it made him sad to think. But he still couldn't get it out if his mind. So warm, and wet, and. Yeah. It was wrong, probably.
The sizzling of the stove snapped him from his thoughts. He'd left it on high heat and the pancake he'd poured in was definitely gonna be well done. He rushed to take the pan off the stove and flip the pancake before it was totally lost.
He'd probably flip his lid if he had to toss it out - not being able to save something right now was just gonna piss him off. And being all pissy was the least helpful thing he could do for either of you right now. Anger wasn't gonna help anybody - no matter how badly he wanted that to be the case. He wanted his hands to fix everything.
The sound of your gentle feet pattered down the hallway and into the kitchen just as he'd finally gotten into his pancake-making rhythm. Evan turned to smile at you, eyes catching your outfit. You'd left the same damn shirt on, only difference was that you'd seemed to have something on underneath. So much for 'getting dressed', huh?
"You follow instructions well." He teased.
You stuck your tongue out at him "You're not my boss, last I checked."
The silly tone of the interaction eased him a bit.
"You can get started, I've got a stack of Pancakes done already." He gestured to the plate on the counter.
You went over and started fixing them up how you like them. "Thanks, they look good." You smiled. "And I hope you don't mind me borrowing a pair of your boxers - I uh, kinda need something on if I'm gonna go to the hospital."
Evan could feel his ears go red. He rubbed at his face in an attempt to hide his flush. "No not at all, take ‘em."
YOUR POV
The car ride felt cold and empty, barren as any winter wasteland. So much for getting Evan back – this isn’t at all what you’d wanted. Being right beside him yet a lifetime away made the wound in your chest fester and decay faster than ever before. It ached like nothing else.
While you’d thought he had relaxed over breakfast, the small talk on the way to the hospital had dried out pretty quick. Not for a lack of trying on your part, of course, but Evan had this sort of impassible edge around him. The same edge he always got when the weight of the word on his shoulders became enough to make him start shutting down. And you couldn’t help but feel that maybe this was all a mistake, not that you chose to be put in… whatever this situation was, but you took the responsibility of Evan’s pain. After everything he’d gone through – or, was about to go through – you had never meant to add onto it.
And maybe your internal monologue wasn’t really about Evan. No – it wasn’t, not really. It was selfish and you knew it. Your whole body screamed to reach for him, but there wasn’t anything to reach for. He thought that you were a nutcase, and you had to live alone with the sixteen years you’d just lived through. And what, were you just supposed to return to your life as normal? Like the horrible things you’d seen, and worse yet, done, didn’t matter?
Did Evan expect that from you, too? Did he expect you to be normal?
Each suffocating second of the ride stretched on for hours, and your previous convictions returned. This wasn’t a better hell than the one you just left, just a different one.
You knew Evan’s car like the back of your hand, you knew where he hid his “emergency backup” knives. It was a tempting thought to slip one under your shirt, excuse yourself to the hospital bathroom and try offing yourself again. After a certain point, after you’ve already died so many times, the act morphed into an entirely different action entirely. It didn’t matter if you’d just come back anyway, and you couldn’t convince yourself that death would ever be permanent.
You wouldn’t do it though. Not this time.
The hospital loomed in the distance now, its hulking brick mass a modern day dahkma. What would they do but confirm the obvious – that you were just some wackjob, the remnants of trauma, and lay your corpse out for the vultures before you could soil their land with your impurities.
Evan weaved through the dull lot before finding a place to park, shutting off the car and placing a hand on your shoulder. Your throat constricted, dread threatening to force your breakfast back out.
Evan gave your shoulder a squeeze.
“You ready?”