Skins © Brian Elsley & Jamie Brittain.

AU where crazy John Foster kills Effy instead of Freddie. Ignore season 7 and the last couple episodes of season 4.

I feel bad killing Effy because she's my all-time favorite Skins character, but I wanted to write this. I wish there were more Frook stories, because the chemistry between these guys is undeniable and their history is very interesting. Whether they're friends or more, I think they're really fun to write about. Maybe someday I'll write more about them.

Cook sees ghosts in his head. They're ghosts of people he's fucked. They're ghosts of people he's fucked over. Some are alive. Some are dead. Deep down, he knows they can't possibly be real, but part of him still wonders if they might be. There's one ghost he sees far more often than the rest – the ghost of a girl he used to know. A girl named Effy. Perhaps it's love making him see things that shouldn't be there. Perhaps it's something else. Cook doesn't let these thoughts linger. He closes his eyes until she's gone because seeing her hurts and it's a reminder that she's dead and he'll never be able to touch her again.

He gave John Foster what he deserved. He beat the man bloody. He beat him until he stopped moving, stopped breathing… He made him suffer the way Effy was made to suffer.

He's Cook. He's scum. He's nothing. But at least he did this one, little thing. He thought it would give him some peace of mind, but in fact, it did the opposite. Now his head is full of these ghosts, voices and faces he can't escape. They tell him to do things. They tell him to be better. They tell him not to run but how can one stop running when it's all they've ever known?

Cook runs. He always runs.

Effy snapped. Cook half expected it to happen. Her doctor ruined her and put strange ideas in her head. In turn, Cook ruined him. It was like a rush of unexplainable anger washed over him, giving him the strength to kill a man with his bare fists. He did it so easily. He knew he was shit, but he never knew he was capable of murder. He learned a lot about himself that day.

Freddie still doesn't understand what happened. He's probably confused. He's probably alone. The thought makes Cook fill with guilt. All Freddie knows is that his girlfriend and his best friend disappeared. He probably thinks they ran away together.

Cook knows he has to set things straight. He needs to go home.

It's morning now and he's in a cheap motel a few towns over. When he opens his eyes, Effy is there. She smiles that omniscient smile, but she doesn't speak. She doesn't have to. Cook knows what she wants to say.

Go home.

Tell the truth.

Stop running.

Go home, James Cook.

Your friends are waiting.

Go home.

Don't keep Freddie waiting.

Cook loved Effy and Freddie both equally. He knows that now. He understands. Perhaps this is why he's always tried so hard to destroy their relationship. Jealously, of course.

"You fucked with my mom, I fucked with your girl," he once said to Freddie. He thought Freddie deserved each angry word Cook threw his way, but Freddie didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve any of it. Freddie was drunk. Cook never bothered asking him if it was something he wanted. He just assumed the worst. Cook was always scum. He fucked Effy and he fucked Karen. Freddie was always good. He was Cook's moral compass, always there to point him in the right direction. Even now, he's pointing him in the right direction. There's that little voice in his head asking him to please come home.

But Freddie isn't one of his ghosts. He's simply something Cook can't escape, no matter how hard he tries to distance himself.

Cook is an impulsive and reckless person, often allowing himself to be ruled by his most negative emotions. He wants so much. He wants everything. He wanted Effy and he wanted Freddie, but the only thing they wanted was each other.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for many long minutes and when he opens them, Effy is gone. He gets up, he grabs his things and he leaves the motel.

Maybe if he listens to the damn voices, they'll go away.

Cook hitches rides back into town and by the time he arrives to Freddie's house, it's late. Rather than tossing a pebble at his friend's window, he moves towards the shed. The familiarity is comforting. "I'm back," he says aloud to himself. He missed this place. It holds so many damn good memories. He takes a deep breath and his nose fills with the faint, familiar scent of weed. Freddie was here recently. He'll be here again soon.

Cook drops his bag down on a lawn chair. It's late. He won't wake Freddie up. For now, he'll sleep. He'll sleep in the shed, just as he's done so many times in the past.

Come morning, the sun is shining bright. Cook wakes up to the sound of a door opening and is immediately greeted with a beautifully familiar face – one he might reach forward and kiss were the circumstances less grim. Freddie looks much the same, but then again, it's only been mere months. He's barefoot, wearing pajama pants and a ratty t-shirt.

"Freds…" Cook greets slowly.

Freddie's eyes are wide and full of questions – full of anger and betrayal and a range of other emotions. Cook looks off to the side. "Where've you been?" Freddie asks. His voice is terse.

"Away," Cook tells him vaguely.

"Away," Freddie echoes with a scoff. "Right."

Cook opens his eyes, forcing himself to look at Freddie. His Freddie. His best mate. One of the only people in this world he truly loves.

"Where's Effy, then?" Freddie asks expectantly, arms crossed defensively.

He's not going to sugar coat it. He's not going to make Freddie sit down. He's just going to say it. "She's dead, mate," Cook says in a hoarse tone.

"What?" Freddie asks in a whisper.

"Effy," the name tastes strange on his tongue. He hasn't said her name aloud in so long. "She's dead."

"What?" Freddie asks again. His eyes are wide and unsure, like he thinks Cook might be pulling another trick on him. "Stop it…"

Cook wants to close his eyes. He wants to squeeze them shut. He doesn't want to keep staring at Freddie. He doesn't want to see his expression when he finds out Cook isn't joking.

"Stop…" Freddie says again. His voice shakes. "Please…"

"She's dead," Cook repeats himself. "Effy is dead." He feels hollow and the words slip out too easily. He wishes he would choke on them instead, the way Freddie is choking on his own breath.

His face contorts grievously and he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He lets out a muffled sob and asks, "How?"

Cook wants to comfort him. He wants to reach forward and hug him and tell him everything will be okay, but that's a lie. So instead, he just stands still with his arms hanging limp at his sides. "John Foster," Cook starts in that same hollow tone. "Her therapist killed her. He wanted her. She didn't want him."

Freddie's shoulders shake. He supresses a miserable whimper, wanting nothing more than for Cook to crack a smile and laugh in his face and say he is just kidding around. But Cook doesn't do that. Instead, he stands still. He stands quiet. He looks solemn. He looks sick. He looks sad. He looks tired. He looks all the things that never suited him. He doesn't look himself. This is how Freddie knows he's telling the truth. He lets out another sob as his eyes begin watering. He can't speak.

"I'm sorry," Cook whispers. "I'm really fuckin' sorry."

But the words don't register to Freddie. His eyes glass over and Cook becomes a blurry mess. His mind replays the best and worst memories. He remembers the first time he saw Effy and how much he wanted her. He remembers the first time they spoke, the first time they kissed. He remembers when she chose him over Cook. He remembers when she tried to kill herself. He remembers how sick she got and he remembers how she got better. He remembers laughing with her. He remembers crying with her. He remembers how happy he was each time he saw her and now it's a feeling he'll never get back because she's gone. The memories keep coming, as do the tears. He sinks to the floor, letting out a string of gut-wrenching sobs that make Cook want to cringe. But he doesn't. Instead, he sinks down next to Freddie. He puts an arm around his best friend and pulls him close, holding him tight and holding him together.

"What happened?" Freddie screams between sobs, clawing at Cook's shirt. "What happened? What happened? WHAT HAPPENED?"

Cook finally closes his eyes, burying his face in Freddie's feathery hair. "I killed him," he finally says, gasping out the words. "I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed John Foster. I killed him. I did it for you. I did it for me. I did it for her. I killed him and I'm not sorry."

Freddie continues crying for what feels like a very long time to Cook, but he doesn't mind. He keeps holding him. Soon, he quiets but neither of them moves. They just stay there, pressed together, soaking up the comfort of one another. It makes Cook think of the last time he held Freddie like this. He broke down because of Effy. Of course it was Effy. With Freddie, it was always about Effy. Somehow, that made Cook jealous. He could never figure out which one of them he loved more. There were times he wished he could just have the both of them. Nonetheless, in that moment, he forgot that him and Freddie loved the same girl. All he wanted was for Freddie to be happy. Even now, he wants that. Freddie deserves it.

Soon, Freddie lifts his head, looking at Cook with a pained expression. "Thank you," he whispers hoarsely. He blinks a few times and more tears fall, but he pays them no mind.

"I'm sorry, Freds," Cook says sincerely, taking a hand and bringing it to Freddie's face. He gently smudges the stains on his cheeks, catching the tears as they fall.

Freddie places one of his hands over Cook's and asks, "What now?"

"I don't know," Cook admits. For the first time in his life, he doesn't fucking know.

"Turn yourself in," Freddie says carefully. "You have to."

"I want to be free," Cook says. "I can't be free behind bars. I've been there once. I can't go back."

Freddie smiles a soft and sad smile. Cook doesn't like that look on his best mate. It doesn't suit him. "You won't be free until you do, James Cook. Running away isn't something a free man does. For once in your life, stop fucking running."

Cook lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes and carefully considering what Freddie is telling him to do. He's been there once. Does he really want to go back? He has two options. He could run away again and leave Freddie behind, or he could go to prison. "Would you, uh," he pauses and clears his throat. "Would you come visit?"

"Of course," Freddie promises without any hesitance.

Tell him you love him.

Tell him.

There it is. That damn voice, always trying to tell him what to do. Cook lets out another breath. Even if he says it, Freddie won't understand what it means. He'll brush it off as friendship, the way he always does. Cook kissed him once, and still, nothing changed. And maybe now isn't the time for love confessions… but nonetheless, Cook leans forward. It's unlike the last time they kissed. There is nothing rough about this and come morning, his lips won't feel bruised.

"Why?" Freddie asks once they part.

"Because I fuckin' love you," Cook says.

"You love me," Freddie repeats. His eyes are still glassy and he just got finished crying his heart out, but God damn, he still looks beautiful.

"Yeah," Cook says. "I do."

Freddie closes his eyes for a moment, as if in thought. When he opens them, he separates himself from Cook and stands up. Cook does the same and Freddie distances himself until he's standing in the center of the shed. Cook sits down on a chair and watches him with a curious look.

"You've said it before," Freddie speaks. "I guess I didn't fully understand you."

"It's fine," Cook murmurs.

Freddie gives a faint nod, reaching for the rim of his t-shirt. He clenches it in his fists for a moment and when he relaxes his grip, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the floor.

"Freds…" Cook says, throat dry. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"You gave me something today," he says. "You gave me the truth. You gave me closure. I think I would have gone mad if you didn't come back. The least I can do is give you this. I don't mind." His fingers slip beneath the rim of his pants and he pushes them down his slim hips. They pool around his feet and he steps out of them, approaching Cook again.

Cook stares at Freddie – beautiful Freddie. Deep down, he understands that this might be wrong, but maybe it will help them both heal. He can't see Effy anymore, but he has a feeling that if she were here, she'd be smiling that same, funny smile – the one that made her look like she knew everything in the world. She'd smile, she'd laugh, she'd glow. She'd be beautiful and perfect, just like Freddie. It's no wonder they were so drawn to one another and it's no wonder Cook loved them both so much. Cook was always the opposite of them. He was like a mud-stain on an otherwise perfect piece of art – something bright and full of life.

Cook allows his pale hands to touch Freddie's darker skin, feeling every inch of the other boy's flesh. Freddie lowers himself onto Cook's lap, kissing him deeply. When they part, Freddie reaches down and undoes cook's jeans. His hands are shaking, but he reminds himself that this is Cook. It's just Cook – his best friend. Cook – the person who would and has killed for him.

"Are you okay?" Cook asks.

Freddie nods lightly, touching Cook in a way he's only ever touched himself. A minute later, they move from the chair to the floor. It's a little dirty, but they don't mind. Cook reaches towards a familiar nearby bucket, where he knows Freddie hides condoms and lube. He's slow and he's careful. He's never really been either of those things in his life. Freddie notices it, too.

"Does it hurt?" Cook asks.

"Yeah," Freddie murmurs, "but I don't mind." He's crying again, but Cook doesn't look away. Neither of them does. He's not crying because it hurts, he's crying for reasons other than that. He's crying for Cook and he's crying for Effy. He's crying for his mother. He's crying for himself. He's crying for everything he's lost throughout the years and all the things he will continue to lose.

With time, things change. Your world can turn upside down in a matter of seconds. Freddie and Cook both know that this is going to change them in unexplainable ways.

It's just like when they were children and they showed each other their privates – only this is different. They are no longer children, innocent and oblivious to how cruel and uncaring the world can be. There are things you can't possibly know without experience, and they've both learned. Freddie told Cook to come home and Effy told Cook to be honest. They both taught him so much. If Effy were here, he'd thank her… but she's not. Cook has a feeling he won't ever see her again. She's said what she needed to say and Cook finally listened.

Cook notices something clear fall onto Freddie's face and he realizes that they're his own tears. 'I'm crying,' Cook thinks and he wonders why. Why now? Why not when Effy died? When not when he left? Why now? Why only after he returned? Nonetheless, all the questions remain unanswered and Cook once again forces himself to swallow his sadness.

Love hurts. He learned that with both Effy and Freddie. He wishes it didn't have to be like this, but it's too late to change things. It's impossible to undo the past and even if he could, he probably wouldn't want to. He needed to kill John Foster with his own two hands. He needed to do it for Effy, who couldn't, and for Freddie, who is too kind.

Freddie is still sobbing beneath him, still grieving, but still willing to give Cook this much. Still too kind for his own good. Somehow, the thought breaks Cook's heart apart even more.

Freddie reaches a hand up and touches Cook's face, touches his tears. Neither of them have fucked like this before, but then again, maybe this isn't fucking.

You don't fuck when there's love.

When it's over, the two boys lie together on the dirty floor. For a long time, neither of them move or speak. Words aren't needed. Cook has said all he needed to say when he was inside Freddie. He said it with his actions and Freddie spoke back.

"Don't tell the others I'm back, yeah?" Cook finally says. "Tell JJ, but no one else. They don't need to know yet. They'll find out soon enough."

Freddie nods. "I won't." His voice is weak, but he's no longer crying. He feels hollow, but still alive.

"Now that I've had you like this, I think I'm gonna miss it," Cook says, forcing a laugh.

Freddie's head turns to glance at him. He smiles, but it's incredibly forced. Nonetheless, Cook appreciates the effort. "I'll visit you," he says. "I'll visit you every day I can until you're free again."

Though, Cook understands that day may never come. Nonetheless he says, "I know you will."

Cook sits up and so does Freddie. They wipe themselves off get redressed. There's a hitch in Freddie's step, but Cook doesn't make any jokes.

"Are you okay?" Freddie asks.

"I should be the one asking you that," Cook mutters, but then again, it doesn't take a genius to see that Freddie is far from okay. So is cook. Nonetheless, he lies. "I'm okay," he says. He's scared, but he won't say that aloud. Nonetheless, Freddie understands. He holds out his hand, offering it to Cook, who gladly accepts it. "Here we go," Cook says and together, the two of them leave the shed. Cook takes one final look at it, knowing he probably won't ever see it again.

It's time. It's time to be honest. It's time for him to accept what he deserves. With his confession will come closure for so many people. Effy's family and Effy's friends won't have to suffer not knowing. They'll have a funeral with an empty grave. Everyone will cry except Freddie. He did all his mourning today.

"I fucking love you," Cook says to Freddie. "I mean it when I say it."

This time, Freddie says it back. "And I love you, too."

Fin.