A/N: Damn, guys, I'm pretty darn pleased with myself. Three chapters, three days. I is awesome! Feel free to stroke my ego, and elect me queen of awesomeness. :D J/k, j/k.
But onto a slightly more serious note: there is nothing graphic in this chapter. But it is highly disturbing. Well, at least I think it's a little disturbing, and when I think it's slightly disturbing, it typically means other people will feel the overwhelming desire to puke or sob. Again, nothing graphic, but... Well, if you're brave enough, read on and find out for yourself. But I warn you: this is not a chapter for the weak of heart.
"To make you go back. Because if you don't, he will kill you. And if you die, this all dies, including me. So pull your head out of your ass, quit your whining, and get back!"
"No. No, I'm not going back. Not 'til it's over," Steven said fiercely. "I can't. I won't. You can't make me."
Hyde grinned maliciously. "Really? Well then, let me show you some of my favorite places in your 'Make-Believe'."
Instantly, the slowly dissolving basement became Steven's bedroom.
Steven glanced around, eyes growing huge as he took everything in.
"What the hell are you doin'?" He asked hoarsely, trying to force the room to change back to the basement. "What the hell is this?"
Hyde kept that grin on his face. "Oh, come on. You don't recognize the little brat in the corner? You know exactly what this is."
"No. No, no, no. I'm not here, I'm back in the basement," Steven whispered, pushing with all his might to make the room change.
Hyde laughed. "Oh, give it up, Buddy Boy. This is where I live; you'll never be stronger than I am. Not here. So you might as well sit back and enjoy the show."
Steven finally opened his eyes. Through the tears, he could see himself, nine years younger, wearing his fuzzy Donald Duck pajamas as the younger him lay curled up on his mattress.
"You remember that night, Steven? You'd drank six or seven glasses of orange Kool-Aid trying to get the taste of your first cigarette out of your mouth, about an hour before bed time. How long did you manage to hold it?"
"I don't know," Steven whispered, sliding to the ground to watch the boy. "A few hours, maybe. It seemed like forever. And I knew I couldn't fall asleep; Edna would've tanned my ass if I'd peed the bed."
Hyde sat down next to him, and the two watched silently as the little boy tossed and turned for a few moments, before tiptoeing over to the door.
"I remember tryin' to think which I'd get it worse for: peein' the bed, or bein' outta bed when I wasn't supposed to be," Steven said quietly, watching with dull, lifeless eyes as the younger version of himself hesitated at the door for a few seconds, before finally quietly pulling it open. "I finally figured that if I snuck to the bathroom quick enough, they might not find out. But if I peed the bed, they'd definitely know."
As the four-year old version of themselves crept out into the hallway, neither boy moved. The room just shifted around them, finding themselves almost instantaneously in the kitchen, staring down the hallway.
"How long are you gonna make me watch this?" Steven asked, his voice numb.
Hyde shrugged. "Until you decide to go back. And if this particular incident doesn't push you out, I got lots more to choose from," He said with a grim smile. "About nine years worth. So why don't you just give up and go back?"
Steven shook his head. "No. You might be able to keep me here, but you can't make me watch," He said, closing his eyes tightly.
Hyde's breath tickled his ear as he leaned in close, and whispered, "I might not be able to make you watch... But you can't stop yourself from hearing."
"Steven! What the hell you doin' outta bed, boy?" Came Bud's slightly drunk voice, from somewhere to their right.
"I... I... I have to potty, dad," Four-year old Steven whimpered. "I just wanna potty, then I'll go to bed."
"You're gonna stay your ass right there 'til I finish here. Then you're gonna get an ass-whoopin' like you wouldn't believe, boy."
Without opening his eyes, Steven knew what was happening as the room went quiet. Bud and the strange man the four-year old had never seen before were talking quietly, arguing over the price of the bag of Blow. Steven remembered the feel of the stranger's eyes running up and down his body, staring at him in a way that even the four-year old knew was wrong.
"Was the first time you'd ever met Ronny, right?" At Steven's small nod, Hyde chuckled. "Damn. Lucky you haven't gotten a disease from that nasty perv yet."
Steven shot up, tears running down his face as he ran to stand in front of his four year old self.
"Run! Don't just stand there, run! Ain't nothin' he's gonna do to you for runnin' is gonna be as bad as what's gonna happen if you stay! Go! Get outta here!" He screamed, shaking the small figure by the shoulders.
Hyde didn't move from where he sat, just shook his head sadly. "He can't hear you, Steven. This isn't one of your fantasy stories. It's not something that I created. This is a memory. And you can't change a memory. Not here, anyways."
Steven began to shudder from the sobs choking him, as he heard Bud say, "Steven, Ronny is gonna stay the night here. And we don't want him to be scared of the dark, so he's gonna sleep in with you, alright? Why don't you show him where your bedroom is."
Hyde finally stood, and walked over behind Steven, both of them watching as the four year old gratefully lead the stranger to his room, knowing nothing but that his father wasn't going to hurt him tonight.
"You know what's coming, Steven," Hyde said quietly. "You might not have known that night, but you know what's gonna happen. And I can make every... last... detail... play again. You thought it was bad going through it? Pbbfft. Imagine what it's gonna feel like when you have to hear it. When you have to watch it. Knowing how much it hurt, and knowing you can't do a damn thing to stop it."
"Why're you doin' this?" Steven asked quietly, desperately, as he watched Ronny lean down, and whisper something into the little boy's ear, making him laugh as he lead the stranger to his bedroom. He remembered the joke. What kind of dog did Dracula have? A bloodhound. Looking back, Steven couldn't even remember why he'd laughed. It wasn't even a good joke, much less a funny one.
"Because. You gotta get outta here, Steven. You survived that night. You thought you couldn't, but you did. You survived to make it to another day. But if you don't get outta here... If you don't go back... Curt's gonna kill you. He's gonna go too far, and he's gonna kill you. You need to go back, and either give him what he wants so he'll go away on his own, or you need to scream your little lungs out for Edna.
"Because I'll be damned if I went through nine years of this shit with you, just for you to give up and die on me now, you little bastard. So what's it gonna be?"