XIII
...

"You've got to stop doing that." Alfred's voice floated into Matthew's head.

Matthew hummed in question, eyes cracking open. His brother's face came in to focus. He felt the remnants of a headache, and his mouth tasted like iron and decay. His glasses were missing, and everything had a general fuzzy edge around it.

"Doing what?" He managed to croak, words scratching along his dry throat. He felt a hand skim across his forehead, and he relaxed into the familiar and reassuring touch.

"You're not supposed to pass out for more than a few seconds," Alfred said. "It's not healthy."

Matthew blinked. "How long was I out for?"

Alfred's face pinched and he seemed to pause, in search of a reply. The hand rested for one more moment against Matthew's head, and then moved off.

"A few seconds. And then you woke up, told dad you were tired, took a shower, and went to bed."

Matthew waited a beat, waiting for more. Nothing came.

"You had me scared there for a moment," Matthew let out a small sigh of relief, punching Alfred lightly. It felt normal. "I thought something screwed up happened, not that I just took a nap."

Alfred's face fell.

"Matt, we've had this conversation around five times in the last eight hours. " He said, fiddling with the corner of Matthew's blanket. "You keep asking me how long you've been out for. I keep telling you. You go back to sleep and don't remember what I told you when you wake up next."

Resignation echoed through Matthew's head, but he felt awake. More awake than he had felt in a while. So awake that he could remember what brought him here, and could wonder where it was.

"I'm awake," He repeated. "Awake. I'm awake now."

Alfred just looked at him with concern. Matthew propped himself up on his elbows.

"Do we..." Matthew didn't know how to phrase the question. "Is there a-"

"Man sleeping on the living room sofa after a thorough interrogation from dad?" Alfred cut him off. "Yes, the guy you dragged in is still here."

"Did you talk to him?"

Alfred frowned. He flattened his palm against Matthew's chest and pushed him back down. Anchoring him, even though Matthew didn't feel like running away.

He lowered his voice and said, "Don't tell dad I'm telling you. I'm not supposed to. He thinks it'll send you off on a weird trip again."

Matthew nodded slowly, placing his hand over Alfred's and gently prying it off. His brother's hand was slightly shaking, as if both touching Matthew and letting him go brought unease to Alfred.

"We talked to him," Alfred said. "When he was awake. He's been drifting in and out too, but when he wakes up, he gives us different stories. The first time he said you and him were trapped somewhere, and you were going to get pulled back."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you any more than that." Alfred averted his gaze, staring at his own hands. "Dad'll definitely know I talked to you then. But it's okay. I didn't understand what he was saying either."

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, maybe to drag more information out of his brother, but Alfred ploughed on.

"Then he said you were just, and I quote, really fucking crazy, and were trying to drag him down with you for whatever reason. I believe his words were something like, you were a bitch from hell and you were pulling him down to your depths. He kept saying something about anger too, the third time I asked him. And dad got another story out of him, something about you running from fire."

Those stories all seemed disjointed, disconnected yet Matthew found himself starting to piece them together. There was a common anchor amongst them. Anger.

Anger.

Gilbert was angry. Whatever that kept picking at Matthew's brain was angry.

Matthew was too.

He was

"How do you know my name?" Matthew interjected sharply as the anger squeezed. "Who the hell are you?""

With every hit he landed against the man's stomach, chest, arms and head, Matthew felt his vision go redder.

The man tried to retaliate, but Matthew easily caught his wrist and clocked him in the face, putting all his fear and anger into that one -

"Matt!" Alfred hissed, yanking on Matthew's arms. "Get a fucking grip on yourself!"

(Stay away from places you don't know, kid. They have a habit of being able to find you again)

Get a fucking grip on yourself.

angry.

"I'm pretty sure he's one of those religious nuts," Alfred broke Matthew's train of thought, leaning and whispering in a conspiratorially. "Once we figure out what religion, we can deal accordingly."

That made Matthew give a short bark of laughter, and Alfred smiled at him. But the moment was brief, as Alfred blinked back into a more somber expression.

"He keeps giving us different stories. Like he's a TV and someone keeps switching the channels, y'know?"

Matthew nodded slowly. A thousand questions ran through his head, but Alfred cut him off before he could voice even one of them.

"That's all I can tell you. And I need to go now," Alfred said. "You know how Dad gets. He'll know I'm telling you stuff. He doesn't think it's safe for you"

Alfred sat silent for another moment, before they both heard Arthur calling for Alfred. Alfred stood up abruptly, and ruffled Matthew's hair in a forcefully casual manner. The hand shifted from Matthew's hair to his shoulder, and it squeezed. Matthew gave a faint smile back, and Alfred let go to leave. He stopped at the doorway, and spoke so quietly that Matthew almost didn't hear him.

"We keep losing you Matt. Stay."

get

a fucking grip on yourself

For an hour, Matthew lay in bed, deciding whether to go to sleep or to go downstairs. He found himself thinking about arbitrary things, like the fact that there was a book on his nightstand that had held the same bookmark in the same place for the past few months, or the small fly buzzing around his room that never came close enough to his bed for him to make an effort to kill.

Gilbert was apparently saying things that Arthur did not want Matthew to hear. Even Alfred had thought that Matthew shouldn't hear the full conversations; the brothers had no problems sharing things before, regardless of what their father told them.

Then again, Matthew really hadn't been himself for the past couple of days. Weeks. Months, maybe.

(years)

Time had stretched strange in his life. And he felt troubled thoroughly, to the point where he might have plateaued and accepted his pain as normal, maybe even real. That was troubling as well.

He heard his name getting called down by his father, so he assumed Gilbert had been shuffled either out of the house or into a separate room where he wouldn't speak to Matthew. Arthur was very proactive when it came to getting things done his way, even when it came to directing strangers.

He cleaned his glasses with his shirt, and crawled out of bed. He winced as his bones creaked, and his entire body felt more sore than ever. He stretched his limbs a little, trying to ease them into more fluid movement, but he still moved stiffly out of the room.

He could hear the shuffling of plates, and low muttering. He strained his ears, and could barely make out Alfred's voice. He was arguing with Arthur over something, but Matthew couldn't tell what. There was a pause in conversation, as a floorboard creaked under Matthew's foot. More muttering followed, growing more heated but remaining at the same volume until–

"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP"

a loud smash rang through the house, and Matthew's chest seized up. He heard two more crashes, then a heavy thud. There was a sharp gasp, another thud and then a scream– oh god that was Alfred and Matthew took off down the stairs, in simple pyjamas with no weapon and completely frightened.

"Matt! Matt, help m–" There was another loud thud from the kitchen, followed by a sickening crunch and Matthew could hear another cry of anguish tapering off into whimpers. Matthew bounded in to the kitchen, ready to leap on whomever or whatever was torturing his brother and–

His father stood above his brother, looking down with mild disappointment as blond hair met slowly congealing blood and Matthew was gone because Alfred was gone–

"It's not real."

Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin as a firm hand grasped his shoulder and turned him around. Everything blurred for a brief moment, then snapped back into focus.

It was Gilbert. He spun around because there were more pressing matters at hand, matters that involved his brother and...

...the kitchen was empty and the floor was clean, devoid of any blood or brain matter or dying brother.

"You got snapped back temporarily," Gilbert's voice came from behind him. "But our special friend isn't going to terrorize us right now. Not for a couple of days at least."

Matthew whipped around to face Gilbert. The other man looked tired, hair matted, skin sallow, and dark bags lining his eyes. He was wearing a nervous expression, one that Matthew knew he was probably mirroring.

"Snapped back from where?" Matthew nearly hissed, and Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "I already told you, kid."

"You– you didn't tell me anything coherent," Matthew said. "You just garbled some weird story at me, that's about it."

"Then let me clear it up for you," Gilbert stepped forward, and Matthew fought the urge to step back. "I'm very open when your brother and father aren't trying to squeeze answers out of me. They've got some pretty impressive interrogation methods for a bunch of squares."

Matthew snorted, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He tried his best to stand tall, and tried his best to not let a stranger get to him, regardless of how tired he was.

And how unsure he was of the situation; how some part of him was telling himself that he was stuck in a very long dream because where else would time warp and where else would he

(see someone crisp, someone wither away, someone get swatted dead like a fly -

crash in a car and wake up alive on a field, and why else was he being eaten away at?

"I'm real," Gilbert, sensing Matthew's trepidation, waved a hand in the general direction of his own face. "You can come punch me if you want."

It would have taken Matthew moments to deliberate, maybe even minutes. Gilbert would have taunted him. But that wasn't how it went. Instead, right as the last word left Gilbert, Matthew found his right arm swinging into the other man's face.

"Holy shit! Ow, fuck!" Gilbert rubbed his jaw. "Nice hit, kid. You really aim to kill, don't you?"

- because those are the things you want, Matthew, and the holes you you bury these wants in aren't that deep)

Matthew didn't stop there. He couldn't. He swung again, fist connecting painfully against the other man's chest, knocking the breath out of Gilbert. Once more, into the man's stomach. Another, to his stunned face again. He barely registered any protests coming from Gilbert, even though part of his brain was screaming at him to stop stop stop.

Hands gripped the nape of his neck and yanked, pulling him away from Gilbert as he attempted another swing.

"Matt!" Alfred nearly yelled into Matthew's ear. "Calm down! Matt!"

With great difficulty, Matthew got himself under control. Gilbert was hunched over, breathing laboriously. Alfred's hand slid from Matthew's neck to his arm, and dug his fingers into his triceps. Matthew raised his hands, and was swung around by his brother.

Matthew stared at his brother, and then down at his hands. They were shaking, and he could hear Gilbert's heavy breathing behind him. He couldn't keep his eyes off his shaking hands, and he watched as the tremors course through his arms, and started spreading through his body till he was wracked with shivers. Alfred clamped both his hands on Matthew's shoulders, trying to steady him.

"What the fuck, Matt?" Alfred hissed. "Are you okay? Did this guy do anything?"

"Fresh air," Matthew gasped in reply. "I need fresh air."

Alfred dragged Matthew by the arms towards the front door. Matthew could hear Gilbert padding along behind them, and Alfred shot the other man a stony look over his shoulder.

"I need to talk to your brother," Gilbert explained, raising his hands to his chest. "I need to talk to Matt."

"The hell you do-" Alfred began, but Matthew elbowed him.

"Al, I need to talk to him too."

"Dad's not going to like this," Alfred said. "He's upstairs sleeping off right now, and he doesn't want you two in the same room."

"Then he can come outside with me." Matthew said, opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch. Alfred and Gilbert both stopped at the doorway. "Al, please."

Alfred looked conflicted for a moment, and whatever Arthur must have told him must have been echoing in his ears.

"If you talk to him, Dad's not going to tell you what happened with him when you were asleep." Alfred said uneasily, and Gilbert snorted. Immediately, Alfred glared at him.

"What?" Gilbert said. "Your father isn't going to tell Matt anything anyways. You know it, and I know it. It's an empty threat."

Matthew expected a protest, another headstrong argument from Alfred. But his brother visibly deflated; his glare, however, did not waver.

"Ten minutes." Alfred said briskly. "And you stay on the porch."

"Aren't you going to come out to babysit us?" Gilbert asked, and Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"I walked in on my brother completely whaling you. I think he can handle himself."

Gilbert shrugged and made a move to step out, but Alfred grabbed his shoulder.

"I probably won't be able to hear you, and I'm not gonna try. Anything important, Matt's gonna tell me later." Alfred thumped the other man's shoulder hard, shoving him out onto the porch. "I will be watching though. One misstep and you'll be suffering more than a headache."

The door slammed behind them, and Alfred noisily moved to the nearby bay window.

As soon as Alfred left, Matthew rounded on Gilbert. He was trying to figure out what to demand first: why are you lying to me, what did you tell me, what did you tell my family, why are you still here? But before he could voice any of these, the other man spoke first.

"It feeds on those who are almost dying. You were almost dying; you're still almost dying. You're not quite dead yet, but any time it decides, you can be. But it wants to throw you around first; it's got too much pride to just kill you off if you get too tough."

"Sorry what?" Matthew blinked.

"Remember what I told you last time?"

"Yes I do," Matthew frowned. "But I don't believe you."

"Well you should. Remember what I said about you lying somewhere in the house bleeding out? It's true." Gilbert stepped forward to Matthew, but Matthew stood his ground. "There's an evil in the house that's become something tangible. The house draws you in when it senses you're near death. By a year, a month, a week, by a day, by a minute, it doesn't matter. It knows."

"Yet here I am," Matthew said. "Even my family can see me."

"You are not you fully," Gilbert replied. "Think of yourself in layers; the body lying in the house is one layer of yours. It's your shell; you're still tangible now because you've got a new skin suit on loan, one that looks exactly like your old one. Your mind is still intact. This way, the thing that's after us can have more fun. Somewhere in the basement of the house, my body is propped up against a wall, badly burnt and barely alive. Those things, our bodies, are gone to us forever."

"We're ghosts?" Matthew said incredulously and Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"No," He replied, mocking Matthew's tone. "We can't go back to those bodies, but we can exist again as real people in the normal world. Should we ever escape, that is."

"Escape what?"

"Like I said before, we're in a painting; we're in another world that's meant to be a twisted reflection of our own. There is an evil within the house that's grown to be organic, and it likes to fuck around with people but the people have to approach them first. You trespassed once before on my property, and it sensed you. And it sensed that you were going to get the shit beaten out of you soon. That's why it latched on to you, and started draining your energy. That's how it grows. If it helps you understand more, think of it like this; we're bouncing through dimensions."

A loud tapping came from the window, and Gilbert turned to look at the window. Alfred held up a hand indicating that they had five minutes left. Gilbert shook his head and turned back around.

"There's one upside to being in the hellhole that we are. We've been manipulated to fit into an alternate reality, and that allows us to be able to do some manipulating of our surroundings as well. That's been my focus for a while, and I've been trying to reach to you but the evil intercepts. But with two of us, I think we can manage to get rid of it."

Matthew raised his eyebrows and looked over Gilbert's shoulder, where he could see Alfred through the window. Alfred shook his head, indicating that he still couldn't hear anything.

"So you're telling me that in all...this," Matthew waved a hand around. "There's a loophole? A get-out-of-jail-free card?"

"Of course there's a loophole. This isn't a divine being after all. It's organic and more importantly, sentient. They are bound to fuck up, and this is one of their irreversible fuck ups. I think with both me and you, we'll be able to combine forces so to speak. I think we can bend this world together; not till it snaps, but until it cracks enough for us to slip through.

"What I did with the gun was me bending the reality enough for me to overcome the entity. It's temporarily indisposed, but it'll be back. You could already feel parts of it coming back when you were in the it'll be angry, but there's still enough time for me to show you what I know."

"Are you a witch or something?" Matthew frowned. "Is this some weird cult thing you're doing?"

"Look, your brother gave me ten minutes to talk to you. That's not enough, so I'm trying to condense it so it can get through your skull. I'm not a witch or a demon; I'm like you. You need to trust me. I'm going to be the best thing in your existence till we snap out. I know you remember our little show down in the field. Tell me you think I'm still the evil one."

"Well, I don't think you're good."

"And I'm not, but I'm not evil. I'm on your side."

"So then why does the...whatever, keep taking your form?"

"I'm the latest victim," Gilbert shrugged. "It's also my house. There's a blood and pain connection there, so I'm the easiest to mimic."

"What-"

"Look, kid, I'd really like to delve into my family history and why I'm stuck here, but I'd rather focus on getting you out. Because if you get out, I get out, and we're both home free."

"I think you're full of bullshit." Matthew said, and Gilbert let out a long suffering sigh.

"Fine," Gilbert said. "I'll prove it to you."

Gilbert looked at Alfred again, who held up two fingers to let them know how much time they had left.

"Okay kid, pay close attention."

Gilbert rolled up the sleeves of his dark grey shirt, and laid his palms flat out. After making sure that Matthew had taken a good look at them, he cupped his hands close. He stared at his hands before clenching them into separate fists. He opened them again, and in each hand there was a small pile of crushed, dead flies.

"Holy shit," Matthew said, at a loss of words. Gilbert said nothing, just stared at the small insects on his hand. Red started to pool slowly under them, and the tiny bodies started to melt into the liquid. Matthew watched as the flies were completely absorbed, and then the red pools vanished in a blink of an eye. Fear spiked through him, but was immediately tampered down.

In a moment of surprising clarity, Matthew felt a little swell in his chest that there was an actual problem and someone knew what it was. Maybe he was latching on to Gilbert's words too quick, but being told that what he was being antagonized was not his own mind but an actual separate entity

no difference kiddo

brought great relief to him that he was extremely hesitant to stamp out. For now he would ignore the fact that there were pieces Gilbert was leaving out, pieces that the other man didn't connect fully for him.

"We need to tell my family the truth," Matthew said. "They deserve to know what's happening."

Gilbert snorted.

"Did they tell you the entire truth this morning? Or did they just give you snippets of whatever I told them?"

Matthew bit back an automatic defence of his family, because Gilbert was right. And the latter knew it. He knew it when he challenged Alfred in the doorway, and Alfred had backed down so easily. Alfred, whose worry was showing through the steely expression he wore as he watched them from within his house.

"Believe me," Gilbert continued. "You don't want them to get pulled into it. It won't end well for them. They're not trapped in this; they don't need to be."

"They can help."

"Or," Gilbert dropped his hands to his side. "They can die. You get trapped, and you'll never know where you truly are. I'll die eventually, whenever our tormentor's done with me. You'll be alone. And you'll try to pull in some small town loner in with you just so you have a chance at saving yourself. And then where would we be? Right here."