/AN: This story is based off an rp on tumblr between me and the lovely guardian-of-the-written-word. She gave me permission to rewrite it in my own words./

He paused outside his bedroom, his hand stopping halfway as he reached for his doorknob. There was an odd scent in the air, metallic and almost sickening...but he couldn't quite place it right away. He blinked and furrowed his brow, then brought his hand up to his nose to double-check for a nosebleed.
No, no...his hand came back dry. Maybe he had one coming on? But it wasn't that time of year...and that was definitely blood he smelled in the air.
No...no, it couldn't have been...that was silly. He couldn't see any blood anywhere, and it would have to be a lot for it to be this strong from such a distance.
Jamie shook his head. Maybe he was just imagining things. Or maybe he was getting sick and his senses were going haywire. Whatever.

But when he opened his bedroom door, his eyes went wide. His whole body went stiff when the scent of blood, stronger now, hit him like a wave and he beheld the sight of his best friend, Jack, sitting on his bedroom floor.

Jack was hugging his knees to his chest, and appeared to be sitting on a towel - that threw Jamie off a little bit, the towel did, because how would Jack have enough presence of mind to pull this morning's towel out of his hamper and sit down on it? But the question was discarded from his mind when he fully focused on Jack's shivering frame.
The white-haired teen was covered from head to toe in blood. His pants and shirt were clinging to him, stuck to his skin. Even his hair was weighed down, plastered flat against his head instead of sticking up like it usually did - there was so much, it almost looked dyed red. And it was all still wet, dripping down his face and neck, and pooling on the towel Jack was sitting on.

A quick look around his room once he managed to tear his eyes away from the terrifying sight confirmed that Jack, for whatever reason, had climbed in through his bedroom window. There was a large smearing of blood on the windowsill and the glass, and bloody footprints on the wood lead to where he was sitting now, right next to his laundry hamper.

"J-Jack... Wh-... What happened..." he whispered.
His stomach was twisting and churning at the sight, so his voice came out hoarse and weak, and the twitching inside only got worse when Jack didn't respond to his question at all. Whatever sense or grasp he'd had on his mind that caused him to put a towel down before curling up in the middle of his bedroom floor appeared to have abandoned him, since Jack was just staring blankly ahead of him as far as Jamie could tell through the blood smeared on his best friend's glasses. He didn't even move his head, or show any signs of having noticed Jamie was in the room at all.

Jamie found himself peeking over his shoulder, making sure his mother wouldn't come in and disturb them before he stepped inside and pushed the door shut. Jack was his best friend and Jamie loved him, and he knew he would protect Jack with his life...even if the older teen had done something awful that caused him to show up like this.

Jamie felt sick when he realized he hoped that was the case, because the alternative meant...

He inched forward slowly, trying to avoid startling Jack, trying to ignore how his stomach twitched, wanting to clear itself at the sight and heavy metallic smell of all that blood. "Jack...? T-talk to me...please..." he whispered, pausing again once he got close to where he sat. But Jack's trembling had gotten worse the closer he got, and it made Jamie's heart clench. Was Jack afraid of him? He should know he would never hurt him...
Slowly, he crouched down next to him, tilting his head slightly to catch his gaze.

As soon as Jamie crouched, Jack responded. His previous blank expression quickly morphed to one of wide-eyed panic, and he scooted back the few feet from his current spot right into the wall, wincing when his back made contact. The towel didn't seem to do any good at that point, having been abandoned when Jack frantically kicked his feet to propel himself back, causing a trail of blood to follow Jack all the way to the wall. He straightened, pressing back into it now, almost like he wanted to fuse with the paint. The sudden change in position caused his glasses to slip down his nose and onto his lap, revealing Jack's eyes properly. They darted about, pupils dilated with fear and disorientation - like he didn't know where he was.

Up close, Jamie could make out a few more details that he'd missed upon his initial inspection - the streakiness on his cheeks indicated Jack had been crying, which only confirmed that whatever had happened, Jack was either traumatized by or remorseful about it and it chilled Jamie to the core.
When Jack's gaze ghosted over him, blue eyes seeming to stare through him instead of at him as they passed, Jamie winced and looked over Jack again.
Jack was in his pajamas. One of his shirt sleeves was torn clean off at the elbow, the other pushed up haphazardly. Through the partially dried blood caked over him, Jamie could make out raw, angry red marks circling his wrists. The only other wounds on him as far as Jamie could see were some scrapes through the tears in his pants and small cuts spattered around his ankles, and a series of gashes on his arm that Jamie couldn't get a good look at because of Jack's fidgeting. "Jack... Look at me, please... T-talk to me..."

When Jack's eyes finally settled on his own, Jamie's breath hitched. He looked so...broken. So much so that for a brief moment, Jamie wondered if Jack had done this to himself...but no...there was too much blood, far too much damage that demanded a second party at the very least.
It took all of his self control to keep calm for Jack at this point.
"I...g-god... Jack... Jack, are you...are you alright?"

Jack shook his head frantically, squeezing his eyes shut. His breathing was rapid, and his whole body was trembling violently even though he was starting to register that he was with Jamie, in his room.
That didn't mean anything. It couldn't ease his mind or make him feel safe... After all, Jack had been in his own bedroom when...no. No. It was too horrible.

One hand gripped at the bared and wounded arm, pressing over the cuts there. He grimaced, almost hissing in pain, but otherwise didn't seem to notice what he was doing. Instead, his other hand fisted into his own hair and he tugged at it roughly, tears starting to fall down his cheeks again.

Up until this point, Jack hadn't made a sound. His breaths and gasps had come out silent, and even during his venture in through the window Jack had been quiet as a ghost. But now...now he just couldn't hold it in. He whimpered and gasped as quiet, choked little cries slipped past his lips. He struggled to breathe, his sobs closing his airway and wracking his body. Jack gripped his hair tighter in a vain attempt to ground himself.

He didn't see Jamie reach over to his bed for a blanket. He didn't sense Jamie approaching him. But he did hear, even if only barely, Jamie's gentle coos. "Jack... Jack, breathe. Breathe with me. I'm right here... I'm here for you."
When he felt the blanket being gently wrapped over his shoulders, he released his hair and pulled his injured arm to his chest, grabbing the blanket with his other hand. Most of it had begun to soak in blood the moment it was laid over him, but Jack found an unsoiled corner and shoved it against his nose, trying to overpower the smell of the blood with Jamie's scent instead, though it did very little to calm him down after what had happened.

Jamie's eyes widened at his reaction, and he frowned in concern. Every part of him wanted to panic - seeing Jack, normally so cool and collected, breaking down - but he had to be the strong one here. So he reached forward, gently placing a hand on Jack's back, forcing down a grimace and a gag when he felt the blood staining his hand.
He glanced down at where his arm was tucked against his chest. Jack was being very protective of that injured arm... "Jack... Can I see?"
When Jack just whimpered and shook his head almost violently, making Jamie worry he was going to break his own neck with the force of it, Jamie had no choice. Jack wasn't going to listen. He wasn't going to respond, and he had to do something, so without thinking, he reached forward and grabbed the hand tucked into his friend's chest.

He pulled it out, turning it over, and inspected the wounds there. And what he saw made his blood run cold.

He'd heard the rumors. He'd read the articles, watched the news stories...but seeing what had been etched into Jack's arm, blood oozing from the cuts, was a whole new level of terrifying for Jamie.

Because what had been carved into Jack's arm was a name. The name given to the most notorious, terrifying serial killer in all of Burgess.

'The Nightmare King'.