Chapter Text
In the four weeks since the shtriga, Isaac hasn't slept much. Granted, he knows neither has Norah or William, with how often the three of them end up sleeping in William's basement together in place of their own beds. Despite their rooms previously feeling safe and sacred, being alone just doesn't anymore.
Being alone means being taken somewhere else, screaming with no one close enough to hear.
Tonight, he's not. Tonight, the three of them are in William's basement again, all sleeping in different areas. Norah is curled up much too politely on a beanbag, William is splayed out on the floor in a position too similar to the countless corpses Isaac has seen for his liking, and Isaac himself-
He hasn't slept. Not tonight, not yet. Mentally he wants to excuse it as just keeping watch, just in case something happens. The shtriga is dead, they killed it, he knows they did, but…
Well, he also knows that's not why he's awake. Something is keeping him up, a nagging, crawling feeling down his spine and settling in his gut like a writhing weight that he can't put into words. For his own peace of mind, he slaps the name “Insomnia” to it, and doesn't think about it too hard.
It isn't the first time he's had trouble getting sleep, and lord knows it won't be the last. When this used to happen when he was younger, he used to talk to him.
The lord. God. When he was still young and went to church, when he still played the part of the good son, when god was simple enough of a concept to be nothing but a loving blanket draped over his mind in moments of silence.
He used to talk to God, at night, staring at the ceiling. Supposedly God could read thoughts and knew all, so he didn't need to say it out loud. He'd sit and think, steeple his hands on his chest, and close his eyes to pray a nonsensical, grateful prayer.
Dear god, thank you for keeping my mom and dad and sister safe. Thank you for keeping my friends safe, and for keeping all the people at the church safe. Thank you for letting me believe in you and love you, and thank you for loving me.
Amen.
Then he'd close his eyes and roll over, imagining God holding him gently, looking down at him with unending love.
If God really can read thoughts, Isaac thinks he's destined for hell.
When he first started doubting, his thoughts were full of questions. Then, they were full of defiance and rebellion, a need to surpass this weird concept of a higher power he was supposed to blindly obey. Now, since the shtriga, it's been rage.
He hates God. If he is real, he hates him. God did this. God made the shtriga, like he made everything else. He made the bugs that invaded him and explored every part of his boiling body with such intimate discomfort no one else could ever understand. He killed all those people, made them suffer, let their souls be sucked into that fucking teddy bear.
Of course, God is supposed to kill people. It's all part of “God's plan” when someone dies. Even if it's slow, painful, maddening, it's God's plan.
If the shtriga had gotten him, if it had feasted upon him like it had countless other children and left him a hollowed husk, would his parents recite those same lines at his funeral? That it was God's plan?
He rolls to his side, his arms coiling like predatory centipedes around his stomach. He presses them inward, feeling that growing nausea that always seems to show it's face when he thinks about this. And, of course, God knows this isn't the first time he's thought about this.
He should at least make an attempt to sleep, probably. They all have school tomorrow. Shockingly, the school district didn't really care that the town just survived soul-sucking bug apocalypse, and they still had to continue learning bullshit like geometry and world history starting at seven in the morning.
Something about the idea of getting up and going back to school and having to leave the safe confines of William's house makes his nausea build, and a shiver unbidden wriggles up his back. Goosebumps raise on his arms, and he curls forward.
He's disgusting. He knows he is. Norah and William have to know it too, he's tainted permanently by that fucking orange acid, it's probably part of his stomach now, forever, and he probably still has a cockroach or two crawling inside him somewhere that he can't see or feel yet. Maybe they're laying eggs, or just waiting for the right time to do something again. He's disgusting. Irreparably he has been changed, and sometimes he believes a part of him was burnt in that church with those bugs.
Something moves against the hairs on his legs, giving his bare skin a small tickle, and it brings his roiling nausea to a screaming peak as soon as he realizes what the feeling reminds him of. He isn't fully conscious of what he's doing before he's snapping up to a sit, and scrambling out from under the blanket he'd been provided by the Wisps to make a beeline to the nearest bathroom.
His knees hit the tile so hard it'll bruise later as his sweaty hands latch onto the rim of the toilet, and his entire body heaves with the force of a violent retch.
Acid burns his throat, it must be bright orange, full of wriggling bugs that want to crawl and invade and steal him away. He knows soon he'll be choking on the melted remains of his own organs, stomach lining gliding up his throat like slugs of meat to pop out of his mouth.
Even though it's just leftovers from the pizza he had for dinner painting the toilet bowl, he can't bring himself to peel his eyes open. What if he looks down and it's cockroaches, or acid, or the remnants of his stomach.
The heaving continues, and the straining of his abdominal muscles have tears springing to his eyes. It hurts in a way that he knows is normal but might not be. This is the first time he's thrown up since that night, what if-
He didn't hear the footsteps into the bathroom over his own vomiting, so he flinches aggressively away from the hand that touches the sweat-soaked back of his t-shirt.
“Oh- shit sorry-” William's raspy voice cuts through the grotesque sound of sick, his hand retreating.
“You're okay.” He mumbles, and Isaac can't help the sob that tears out of his chest.
“Will- Will it hurts-” He manages to choke out before heaving again.
With more restraint this time, William's hand returns to Isaac's back, and the curled up boy doesn't shrink away this time.
“I know, it's okay. You're okay man.” He repeats, the vain attempt to keep the fear from his voice failing.
Isaac's grip on the toilet seat turns his knuckles white. “Will it- it burns! What if- what if it's-”
“It's not. It's not. Isaac, I swaear to God it's not.” He repeats, as if it's supposed to be reassuring.
“Don't fucking say that!” He shouts, coughing more bile into the toilet.
At this point Norah must've been woken up by the noise, as a smaller pair of soft, socked footsteps joins them in the bathroom.
“Will? Is… is Isaac okay?” She asks, voice meek and fearful.
Issac finally opens his eyes enough to look down at the completely normal, average, beige colored vomit in the toilet. He hates how much he relaxes at it.
“He's okay. Just…” The sound of William's shoulders cracking alerts Isaac to the fact that he's turned back to him. So, finally, he looks up and back at Will, his stringy bangs obscuring most of his view.
“Did you have a nightmare or something man?” William asks, hand now rubbing small circles into Isaac's back as Norah joins them on the floor.
Isaac, despite his lingering dizziness, shakes his head. “No I… I just felt sick I guess. Maybe the… the pizza just didn't sit right. I dunno.”
William's lips press together tight, and he turns slightly to Norah, who leans forward a bit. Then, her palm moves to cup Isaac's forehead, and he tries not to compare it to the priest's when he had gripped Isaac's head to pry his mouth open and-
He stops the train of thought there before it makes him sick again, focusing on the cool sensation of Norah's hand against his face instead.
Her eyes dart to William, then back to him, worry obvious in her very readable expression. “You do feel a bit warm. But, it could just be from the exertion of… that.”
She gestures to the toilet, which then alerts Isaac to the smell. He turns back to flush it, then leans against it.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you guys up, it- it came out of nowhere.” He says, queitly.
“It's okay man. M…maybe you should try and get some more sleep then, and we'll see if you feel better in the morning?” William offers, and Isaac immediately groans.
“I really hope I don't have to miss school. We already have enough to make up as it is with all the shit that happened.” He mutters.
William starts to stand, offering a hand to Isaac, who stands with him, albiet a bit more unsteady. Norah follows quickly with a small, awkward smile.
“Well, let us know if anything else happens. Wake us up, please, we wanna help, Isaac.” She asks, holding a hand out behind him as William guides him back to the couch.
He unceremoniously plops himself onto it with a grunt, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Sure. But you know me- takes a lot more than a stomach bug to take me down.”
William laughs once, much louder than anyone should normally, then closes his mouth.
“That's actually so fucked up.” He comments shortly after. Isaac snorts.
“Yeah. Probably.”
Then, with his free hand, he waves the other two off. “Go back to sleep. This'll probably be gone in the morning.”
He turns away from them, but knows they linger for a bit behind him, staring wordlessly, before eventually settling back in.
It's fine. It's not the bugs, it's not the priest. It's not the shtriga. He'll be fine when he wakes up.