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In the grand scheme of things, what went down in the Perkins house shouldn't have been so surprising. Frankly, the more surprising part was that it took this long for everything to fall apart.
Now, let it be said that Garrett is a childish guy. He's well aware, and so is everyone who knows him. Silly, kinda all over the place, overwhelmingly energetic, all things that have been used to describe him, and he can't fully disagree. He likes to have fun, is that such a crime? Not really, he thinks, but most people get sick of it after a while, and then they leave. Garrett has spent a lot of time alone because of his antics, and while he mostly shrugs it off - "If they don't appreciate my whimsical personality, then that's perfectly fine!" - it still hurts, a zippy little sting in his heart that bites through the thick skin he's built up over the years. That doesn't even count into his actual little time, but he keeps that one under tight lock and key for a reason. He's too much, people leave, no reason to bombard them with more when they can't even handle him normally. It's just the way things are.
Until Andrew.
They'd known each other for years and years, and somehow, they'd clicked. Sure, they're almost total opposites, but that's what makes them work; Garrett is the boisterous personality in front of the camera, and Andrew keeps him (mostly) in check from behind it. For all his anxieties, he always follows Garrett into the scariest places humanly imaginable, the total consummate professional and dedicated friend he is, and for that, Garrett is infinitely grateful. Even more, he's so glad he’s still hanging around, through thick and thin, when the ghosts whisper his name or just eating Chinese food on the couch together at weird hours of the night. Having him around just makes things feel easy, even walking through the halls of St. Ignatius or the Winchester house, because at least he knows he isn't alone, that Andrew is always there by his side to keep him grounded despite his own trepidation.
Which is why, in hindsight, handcuffing himself to that cradle was probably not Garrett's best idea.
He always chickened out of being alone in these places they investigated, always too afraid to commit to the dark and the quiet. Not this time, he'd decided, because he was a big kid (usually) and he would be a scaredy cat no more. There's a venomous little whisper of content in the back of his mind, but he wipes it away with shame crawling under his skin - that wasn't the point. Be alone for thirty seconds, and he would be done, a coward no longer. Easy peasy, right?
But of course, when did anything ever go easy for Garrett?
It starts small. The energy when he walks into the house is dense, settling over his skin like a physical thing, and already, goosebumps prickle over the back of his neck. His stomach turned and twisted nervously - suddenly the orange chicken he had shoveled into his mouth outside suddenly didn't feel like a good idea as the nausea creeps up his throat. His hands are still ambiently sticky, just adding the feeling of Wrong filling his body. The preliminary walkthrough is fine, creepy but standard; the rocking chair moving is freaky, but Garrett is almost certain he bumped into it, so he ignores the chill worming its way up his spine. He continues doing his silly jokes, pokes around a bit more, soaks in the energy of the house. It's not violent, but rather heavy, alive, like it's filling every inch of him. They don't even make it up the stairs before the creaks and whispers and cold spots begin, and when he steps onto the landing, his soul nearly jumps out of his body when he turns and sees the mannequin. He laughs it off, but it leaves him on edge, shoulders hunched and heart thumping off-beat. When Garrett sees the nursery, he immediately knows it's the room he has to lock himself in, and his stomach drops at the thought.
They eat Lunchables charcuterie and fish cookies, set up the equipment, blow up balloons. They take a moment outside before going in for a dark walk, the cold air nipping at Garrett's skin, and he takes a moment to decompress from the overbearing energy of the house before putting his "camera face" back on and stepping back in, locking the door behind them this time. The activity continues to ramp up; while he's reading about the house's history at the dining table, there's a clamoring in the kitchen, and a bolt of fear strikes through him, so strong he has to take a moment to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, chasing away the burn of the tears. It's not all completely unbidden, though; he sits in Mr. Perkins' chair and sits on the daughter's bed, stares in her mirror, inviting them to show themselves. He tries to stifle the fuzz percolating at the edge of his senses, because now is not the time to be little, not when he's about to do the scariest thing in his career so far. Although, backing out was starting to look very tempting...
Well, it's too late, because before he can second guess it, he snaps the other end of the cuff to the metal bars of the cradle.
"Dude, are you serious right now?" Andrew asks incredulously, giggles from initially seeing the handcuffs dying down into serious uncertainty. His eyes flick from Garrett to the restraint a few times, eyebrows raised. "If you don't have the key, I'm- I'm gonna be so-"
He barely manages to stammer through the sentence before Garrett cuts him off with said key, jingling cheerfully on the chain as he holds it out for him to take. "I'm giving it to you," he explains, a small smile still stuck to his face despite the terrible situation he's put himself in. It pulls tight at the corners when he says, "Leave me alone in this room."
"Are you serious?" Andrew repeats, in that same disbelieving tone, and Garrett's smile falters a bit. Usually, Andrew's nerves and his crossing wires didn't effect him too much, but on top of his already faltering confidence in his own follow-through, it only made the idea of being alone in there so much worse. He swallows the fear for now, listening to Andrew giggle and sputter nervously, and gathers up all the courage in his body.
"I always say I wanna be left alone in a room, and I never actually commit to it, so," he explains, voice firm and sober, pulling the chain of the cuffs taut to conclude his point. Andrew laughs nervously again, and it pulls a giggle out of Garrett as well, even though his heart is about to burst out of his chest. The ever-oppressive lean of his regression looms heavy over him in the moment, extremities tingling with warmth even in the chill of the house, and attempts to smother it completely. He sends Andrew into the hall, ignoring the still slightly swaying pendant light and the lingering fog in his brain.
And so here he is, "Andrew cam" in hand, the other cuffed to a metal bed frame in a big, haunted, scary old house. Oh goodie. Thirty seconds alone, that's all he needed to do.
After only two seconds, he calls out through the closed door. "Andrew?" Nothing, just a distant creak, and Garrett's breath hitches. "Andrew, y'still there?" Still nothing. The pendant swings ominously, as if pushed. There's a thud thud thud from the closet, like approaching footsteps.
His first instinct, naturally, is to panic. Without thinking about it, he moves for the door, only to be yanked back by the chain still linking him to the cradle, dragging the thing maybe an inch or so. It cuts into his skin, and he whimpers, the fog rushing up so quickly now. He's not gone, he didn't leave me, he wouldn't. He yells Andrew's name again, voice trembling, backdropped by the frantic clink of him tugging against the cuffs.
"Yeah, I'm here. You good dude?" Andrew's voice finally, blessedly rings through, and Garrett could cry as relief washes through his body. It's very quickly spoiled, however, by that wonderful familiar voice reminding him, "You've got twenty seconds left."
"Y'know what, I'm done, I don't want to do this one," he announces, shaking his head hard to disguise the pin-prick tears filling his eyes. Garrett swears under his breath, trying and failing to steady his shaky breathing. His tongue feels clumsy in his mouth, like he can barely get the words to form, and he pulls at the handcuffs again. "Andrew, you can come back in now."
The door handle jiggles, pulls, then falls still. Then Andrew says the worst thing Garrett thinks he's ever heard in his life. "Oh shit, is it locked?"
"What?" is the only response he can form in the moment, heart hitting the floor so fast it's almost nauseating. "No it's not, are you serious?"
"Dude, seriously, I think it's stuck or something," Andrew's voice echoes out, the door knob shaking again as he attempts to wretch it free. "Can you reach it at all- like maybe if you turn it from the inside?"
"M-Maybe," Garrett gasps, chest heaving with the effort to keep his voice steady. Stupid, he thinks, tears filling in his lash-line rapidly, this footage is useless, I'm gonna be trapped in here alone forever, and it's all my fault. "I think I can- I can drag it-"
With all his strength, he drags the cradle forward, wince at the way it scraps against the floor. Mumbling an apology to the house, Garrett pulls and pulls until he's close enough to reach the door knob, but when he twists it and pulls to open the door, the knob pops off into his hand. His jaw drops a little, then his lip starts to tremble.
"Did you do it?" Andrew asks through the door, so close yet so far, and Garrett is breathless for a second. He has to tell the truth, but...what if this was it? What if this was the thing that finally chased Andrew away, leaving him be all by himself again, stuck in the scary room all alone?
"The- the d-doorknob," he says shakily, barely above a breath. He clears his throat, futilely scrubs at his tears with the back of his hand, and tries again. "The doorknob came- came off."
"What?" Andrew exclaims, and Garrett flinches instinctively, then berates himself silently for it. Andrew isn't gonna hurt me, 's just Andrew and 'sides, he's on the other side of the door. He barely clocks back into what Andrew is saying, catching just the tail end of it. "-y it again?"
He just nods, then mutters an affirmation when he realizes how dumb it is to nod when they're on opposite sides of the door. Kneeling to get a better look at where the doorknob should go, Garrett pushes it back into place with shaky hands, and immediately, it starts shaking and twisting. Twisting it in tandem, it finally swings forward and nearly smacks him in the nose, and something inside him cracks when he sees Andrew standing there, looking beautiful and warm and confused as ever.
"Dude, you okay?"
Something pounds on the wall beside them, nearly rattling the picture frame, and Garrett's razor thin composure breaks.
The tears start slow, rolling down his face like tiny lava tracks, but once the dam is broken, the flood begins. Choking on a breath turns into a hiccup, and soon enough, he's fully sobbing, chest stuttering with aborted breaths as he tries desperately to return air to his lungs, to no avail. There's this constant drone in his ears, of Andrew's voice saying words he can't make out, and he sobs harder, because Andrew is here, looking at me, gonna be so mad at me for being a stupid baby. Dropping the camera to the floor, he claws at his hair agitatedly, yanking at the straw-colored strands atop his head with the desperation of a man possessed. The fuzz makes it so hard to think, to come up with words or worry about solutions, that he continues on like that for what could've been anywhere from seconds to hours, having a fit on the floor like a little kid having a tantrum. A hand touches his shoulder, and he flinches, twisting away from the touch as much as the handcuff would allow.
"Nuh- no, n-no, 'm so'ee," he whimpers, squinting through the river of tears at the flashlight blinding him. His back hits the cradle, the metal of the frame digging into his back, and, trapped, his face flushes with exertion and embarrassment. Hesitantly, the hand presses against his shoulder again, and he writhes without anywhere to go, a particularly harsh sob wrings from his chest. "I be goo', p'omis', I goo'-"
"Garrett, hey, you're okay," Andrew says, setting the flashlight onto the floor so they can finally be properly face-to-face. His green eyes are dark in the underlie room, and so, so gentle, flicking over Garrett's tear-streaked, snotty face with confusion and so much concern. His hand on his shoulder is warm, practically searing through the layers of his clothing, but when Garrett attempts to shift closer, he's held back by the handcuff still tethering him to the cradle; his fingers on that hand are nearly numb, and he whines, pulling petulantly at the chain. "Shit- sorry, let me get that-"
With nimble fingers, Andrew unlocks the cuff with a click, then winces. The skin around Garrett's wrist is red and a little raw, pressed with the imprint of the cuff, but in the moment, he can't bring himself to care. Instead, he flings himself at Andrew, burying his face into his neck, and Andrew suddenly finds himself with a lapful of sobbing toddler - all 6 feet, 4 inches of him. Slowly, he reciprocates the embrace, those deft fingers sliding over the back of his neck and into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp, and Garrett melts. Andrew is just so warm and solid beneath him where his hands grab at the man's jacket, and he snuffles closer against his neck, knocking his glasses even more crooked against his face. They sit in silence for god knows how long, and eventually, the tears slow to a crawl, then cease completely. Now, his face is just uncomfortably warm and sticky, and he pulls away to rub at it with clumsy sweater paws.
"You feelin' better, bud?" Andrew asks gently, hand still idly brushing through the short hairs at the base of his neck, and Garrett giggles at the ticklish sensation.
"Mhm," he hums, finally feeling pleasantly light and fuzzy. Sniffling loudly, he startles at a loud creak somewhere downstairs, and he leans his chin on Andrew's shoulder with a pout. "And'ew?"
"Uh- yeah?"
"'M so'ee," he mumbles, turning to press his forehead into the man's coat. He didn't want to see Andrew's face when he got the inevitable news that this would be their last night together. Tears threaten to peek out again, and he sniffles again. "Di'n' mean to..."
"What are you talking about, dude? You didn't do anything wrong," Andrew queries, his voice rumbling in his chest, and Garrett grabs at the back of his coat desperately, a reedy whine in his throat. Mean, mean, mean, why he being so mean 'bout it.
"Go' door 'tuck, an' 'm..lil'..." he trails off into a whisper, breath hitching when Andrew runs his hand through his hair again, careful not to yank at the sweat-soaked tangles there, around his temples. His lip trembles. "'lease don' leave me, And'w."
"Okay, the door getting stuck was not your fault," Andrew protests, shushing him when he begins to fuss again. Idly, he begins to rock, just a slight, slow, stealthily soothing side-to-side motion, and Garrett huffs, mad because it works. Slumping against the solid body beneath him, he sneakily snakes his hand between them suck his thumb, mind finally settled with the gentle push-pull of his thumb in his mouth. "This place is like a million years old, stuff like that happens, I shouldn't have closed the door anyways just in case it did lock." His hand pauses, threaded in his hair, and for a short, irrational moment, Garrett is afraid he's about to pull it. "As for the little thing...dude, I already knew that." Garrett startles, snapping his head back in surprise, and he lets him, hand still cupping the back of his head. Andrew smiles at him, a little mischievous, maybe, but not mean, and Garrett makes a questioning noise around his thumb. "We quarantined together for months, you actually thought I wasn't gonna find out?"
Oh. He hadn't thought about that one before.
"No' mad a' me?" he mumbles, and when Andrew tilts his chin up to look him in the eye, he doesn't flinch this time. Those sincere green eyes meet his own watery baby blues, infinitely patient and unendingly kind.
"Of course not, bug," he tells him, and he means it, so warm and honest that Garrett nearly bursts into tears again. Every inch of him lifts, like a weight he hadn't realized he'd been dragging around was finally released from his body, and all that's left behind is the bright, balmy buzz of being wonderfully small in his caregiver's embrace. Andrew presses a kiss to his forehead, his stubble rubbing against his skin, and Garrett giggles at the scratchy sensation. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm right here."
"Mkay. And'ew?"
"Yeah, bug?"
"Wan' go home."
And so he lets Andrew drag him to his feet, and he stands on jelly legs, watching Andrew gather their things and pile them by the front door, all while forcing the man to hold his hand. The first thing he packs into the car is, unsurprisingly, Garrett himself, wiping up his face with some glovebox napkins before buckling him in. When he whimpers and begs for his bear, Andrew roots through every single bag for the thing, eventually pulling him out and delivering him safely into Garrett's arms. By time he's done bringing everything back to the car, Garrett is practically passed out in the passenger seat, shoes kicked into the footwell, curled up on the seat with his knees to his chin. Wordlessly, Andrew slides into the driver's seat and slips the little's glasses off, folding them and setting them in the spare cup holder before driving away from the dreaded Perkins house.
“Sweet dreams, bug,” he murmurs, a terrible affection welling up in his chest for the silly, wonderful, sweet man curled up in the seat beside him.
Garrett never even stirs.