A/N: Hello All! Just a quick message for all of you who may be following this story. I don't update here as often as I should, unfortunately, but I do regularly update on Archive of Our Own! You can find the fully updated story there, under the same title and the same author's pen name! If you cannot access AO3, I will make sure to try and catch it up here soon, but if you don't feel like waiting, you can go there! Thank you!

Yoroi

14. Break the Walls

[ Meeting 107; Springwood - Haddonfield. ]

When Meg heard the CLAP of a trap, she was filled with fear - not because she was afraid someone was dying, but because she couldn't bear to look Evan in the face again. Not after what she'd learned. Not after what she'd said.

Going up the stairs in an abandoned house, the red-head first thought that she was in Haddonfield - but a glance out the window revealed the infamous Springwood elementary school in the distance… as well as ambulances… and police cars… and a street sign that said 'Haddonfield.' Grimly Meg surmised that this was another one of the 'map convergences' that had been happening lately; soon after, dread settled in her chest at the mere thought of facing the killer to which this map was assigned. The Shape. While most of the other killers had dissolved into chaos for varying reasons, Michael Myers (as Laurie had named him) had continued his murderous spree with single-minded focus and determination. He went into every trial intent on squeezing the life out of every living thing in sight; he was the one killer they truly still had to do their best around, lest they die a painful death. Sure, Evan was the killer for the trial, that had been established with the sound of the bear trap closing, but what if Michael showed up? What if the melding of the maps caused two killers to show? It wouldn't be the first time -

- and she dreaded to think what might happen if the Shape were to interfere.

As she worked on a generator, she tried to let the glow of crossing wires distract her, but her brain kept circling around him. Evan. What he'd done; his past.

He'd killed over a hundred people.

From what it sounded like, his father was mostly to blame for molding him into a monster - in fact, if Evan had a hobby like drawing, she surmised at one point he couldn't have been all that bad - but his father had warped him. Trained him into a feral animal.

And he'd killed a hundred people.

The thought was too much to bear. Ashamed that she'd longed for the embrace of a man with such a cold, dead heart that he'd walked a group of people into a mine and murdered them with explosives. That she'd actually had… feelings for a man like that.

Meg was disgusted with herself. For letting her attraction and curiosity blind her - for letting a few good deeds wipe away the fact that he was a monster for a reason - and she tried and failed to bite back the tears that brimmed the corners of her eyes.

With a sniffle she took a cursory glance around as she finished up the generator - and let out an ear-splitting scream.

Not far back, standing behind a tree, he watched her. Still and silent as the grave.

The Shape.

He stared down at the trap in his hand. He remembered the first time his father had taught him how to set a bear trap; how as a boy he'd messed up, got his hand caught, nearly tore his own fingers off. His father laughed as blood dripped from Evan's mangled fingers; he could hear that laugh clearly, sharp and bitter and cold.

It had served him right for not setting the trap correctly. He'd deserved to get his hand caught. It had been up to Evan after that to wrap up his own hand, tend to his own wounds, and he was still shocked that he hadn't endured permanent damage or disfigurement. He supposed years of caring for himself had honed his medical skills - enough, at least, to spare his hand.

That same hand, marred only by angry white scars, turned over, long rough fingers flexing as the other hand bore the trap dutifully. He'd been born a hunter. It was in his blood. Why had he turned his back on his blood - and his father - for a girl?

Punish her, his father growled in his ear. Break her. She thinks you're a monster… but she's just a weak little worm.

The Trapper stiffened, shoulders rigid with tension. Eventually he lifted the trap once more, staring at the cold, hard metal. He spent so long doing so that he could hear the completion of not one, but two generators.

Finally his feet moved, and the hulking man began aimlessly wandering about, noting the way the area seemed… warped, like two realms were merging together. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and it would only get worse from here.

A dark-skinned girl froze up when she saw him approach, and the killer stopped several yards short of her, simply watching. She stared right back with wide eyes, shaking like a leaf; but she didn't run. There was something in her eyes, mingling with the fear… curiosity, perhaps.

Not unlike the emotion initially reflected in Meg's gaze.

He waited.

Eventually the girl moved a step closer, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly as if trying to find the right words. Finally she settled on, "how did it happen for you and Meg?"

His brows furrowed. He grunted questioningly. Clearing her throat, the girl amended, "t-the red string… h-how did it happen? What does it mean?"

He finally shrugged, unsure how to answer. Truthfully, there was no answer. The girl frowned, frustrated. "D-Does it mean you… love her?"

The Trapper visibly stiffened, working his jaw behind his mask in annoyance. "No," he growled.

"W-well then, please help me understand!" The girl's voice was genuine and pleading, with none of the belligerence Meg's voice usually had. No, this girl was soft, even frail. She was a healer, not a scrapper. "I… I'm connected now. To… t-the Hillbilly. Uhm, M-Max," she corrected.

"Then that… is all," he replied in a rumble. "Just… connection."

Her brows furrowed thoughtfully. "W-Well… then why does he stare at me? With this… look…"

Evan frowned beneath his mask. This wasn't the type of conversation he thought he'd be having, and he didn't want it to go on any longer. "I do not… know," grunted, turning away to leave.

The girl piped up, giving him pause. "I-I never really saw Meg interact with you… but I'll b-bet she looks at you that way, too…"

He clenched his teeth, hands tightening into fists. "She doesn't," he growled, leaving her standing there confused.

Feeling anger and frustration building in his chest, the killer marched off toward a hook and began taking his woes out on the contraption. He beat on it with his cleaver; when it was thoroughly mangled he grabbed at it and began pulling as hard as he could. Muscles tensed and strained as he ripped the metal from the ground, letting it collapse in a rusty heap. The hook was almost unrecognizable as he stared down at it, chest heaving with ragged breaths.

Evan turned his face to the dark sky, feeling a roar of rage build in his lungs; but before he could release his emotions into the air, he heard a gut-wrenching scream from a building near the school. The killer's body went rigid and he stooped to pick up his cleaver, every inch of his body on fire with adrenaline; he knew that scream.

Meg was in trouble.

And though he was a monster… a murderer… and though she'd never love him, she'd never look at him with that twinkle in her eye, or give him that coy little smile, or reach up to touch his face, ever again… he couldn't help himself. His urge, his instinct, was to protect her.

He marched off to the house, gripping his cleaver tightly in his hand. If Meg was screaming like that… then that meant there was another killer here. The collapse really was upon them.

Seeing the tall, imposing figure in the distance with a knife raised, Evan let out a low, angry growl. The Shape. The only killer who was so silent, so demonic, so frightening that none of the others ever tried to bother him save for the Ghostface - who, granted, was extremely stupid. On the one or two chances that Evan had looked the Shape in the eye… he found nothing there. Not a damn thing.

And that soulless husk was currently dead-set on Meg. Evan growled again and took off after them, his long stride allowing him to easily catch up to them. The Shape didn't even bother to glance back at him. He was too focused on his target. Reaching out, Evan grabbed the other by the back of his jumpsuit and yanked him back so hard that he stumbled and fell flat on his back; Meg, who'd been running, continued to do so until she jumped over a window and into the nearest house. He only spared a quick glance at her, relieved that she was safe for the moment, before turning his gaze back on the Shape.

The tall killer laid deathly still for a moment, before abruptly getting up and coming straight for Evan. He was silent, not saying a word or even conveying anger in his posture, but the kitchen knife was held in a deathly tight grip as he turned his hostility on the other killer. That was the moment Evan truly knew just how evil this creature was; he did not distinguish friend from foe, he did not care who he hurt, only that he hurt. To suffocate life was his only goal.

And the realization sent a small, unfamiliar trickle of fear into Evan's chest. Though he still had about half a foot on the Shape, and was certainly much bulkier, the sheer single-minded determination and relentlessness of the other was intimidating. Evan side-stepped a swipe of the man's knife, then another, then another - before countering with his cleaver. As the blade sunk into the Shape's shoulder, blood quickly staining the simple blue jumpsuit he wore, the masked killer stopped for a moment and stared at the wound before slowly looking back up at Evan.

Then plunging the blade right into his gut. Evan yanked himself away, rumbling lowly in pain while clutching his heavily bleeding wound and attempting to parry any more incoming blows. Evan's weapon was bigger, and he was stronger, but the Shape felt no pain. He had no soul.

The Trapper was outmatched in that regard.

As the Shape homed in on him, he felt that blade sink into his body - again. And again. And again. Though he got several good hits on the other killer, the Shape didn't seem nearly as affected by his grievous wounds as Evan was. His vision suddenly blurred and he stumbled away as the other killer continued pressing in. Closer. Closer.

And suddenly there was a mighty little scream accompanied by a lithe body tackling the Shape so hard he was knocked clean off of his feet. The two bodies crashed to the ground, before the smaller one scrambled off in a panicked frenzy and approached Evan. In his blurry vision he could make out Meg's face. Those intense blue-gray eyes. A lock of red hair curling messily under her chin. She was the sun peeking out from behind black clouds on a stormy day.

He felt her take his hand firmly in her own, tugging him forward and away from the scene. Taking him toward safety.

As she watched from the window, utter fear in her eyes as Evan - the Trapper, she tried and failed to remind herself - faced off with the Shape. Though Evan was larger and taller and had the better weapon, Michael had a tenacity, fearlessness and drive that was inhuman and unmatched.

And it was beginning to turn the tides of the battle. Evan, sporting quite a few stab wounds and bleeding inky blood onto the ground, took another swing at Michael and the blade found his shoulder - but that didn't stop him stabbing again. And again.

Meg battled with herself on whether or not to run. She should have been getting the hell out of here - toward safety - but something kept her feet glued. Maybe it was the horror of watching such a soulless monster take one of the strongest killers down slowly and surely, or maybe it was sheer fear of Michael himself - she tried to convince herself that it wasn't concern for Evan. She didn't care about him anymore. She couldn't.

He was a killer, through and through.

But if that were true, why would he risk himself like this for her? After the things she'd said, after the way she'd looked at him? This was a repeat of their punishment from the Entity; Meg had run away, had pushed as hard as she could, and still he remained. Came to her aid. Protected her.

She had made the decision before awareness hit her and by the time Meg realized what she was doing, she'd vaulted out of the window, let out a war cry, and slammed her body right into Michael with enough force to bring him down. Running on sheer adrenaline and instinct, the red-head scrambled to her feet, reached for Evan, and began dragging him out of there. His steps were clumsy and atypically slow, and his free hand was holding his abdomen as if doing so would keep the blood from flowing.

It didn't.

And Meg hated that she was worried about it. Her brain screamed at her, trying to convince her that he deserved this torture, that he was nothing more than a heartless killer, that she should cut her losses and just go… but some part of her, she wasn't sure which, whispered that there was more to him than met the eye. That maybe… just maybe, he was worth redeeming.

Evan was worth saving.

"Just… go," she heard him grunt behind her as she strained to tug him forward. "Stay… safe."

"Shut the hell up." Meg's eyes flared with anger as she glanced back at him, still vehemently pulling on his arm. "Just stop talking and start moving, you dumb turtle!"

He grunted again, looking backwards. The

Shape was nowhere to be seen; the spot he'd been laying in was empty. Meg felt fear shoot through her and she continued straining to help Evan along. At this point she hadn't even noticed if the generators were powered or not: at the rate the world collapse was going, she wasn't entirely sure if the generators were even relevant anymore. She wondered if the illusion was weak enough that they could… just bust out.

A ludicrous idea, but with the way things were going; it was sounding more and more reasonable.

Seeing a dirty pink shirt up ahead, Meg's pace quickened. "Claudette!" she called out, feeling relief flood her when the other girl came to their rescue. Claudette was so short that hauling Evan's other arm over her shoulders really didn't do much to hold him up, but with the two working together, they were able to get him over to a gate.

"It's Michael, isn't it…?" Claudette asked, voice shaking. "Meg - the generators are almost done… Dwight and Jane were working on the last one, but…"

Meg's lips curled into a grim frown. "They'll finish it. Even if Dwight scares easily, I know they'll get it done. We need to find a gate."

"B-But we can't take the Trapper -"

"Evan." Meg's voice was firm and left no room for argument, surprising everyone - including herself. Her voice went quiet. "His name is… Evan."

Claudette paused, trembling in fear. Finally: "Meg… we can't take him with us. The Entity won't let him through the -"

"Then I will find another way."

Evan grunted from between them. "No." His voice was ragged. "Leave. I will… be fine."

Meg's temper flared and she glared up at him. "I'm not -"

"Leave."

She could see the look in those milky white eyes even behind his mask, and Meg hesitated. The two were suddenly locked in a battle of wills as Claudette stood by, spectating helplessly. Finally the last generator powered on and Meg felt a rush of adrenaline, speeding her along. There was still no sign of the Shape, still no screams sounding from across the map - and rather than being comforted by that knowledge, Meg was even more concerned. Letting go of Evan, she rushed over to the gate and pulled down on the lever, starting up the power.

While Meg sprinted forward to get the gate open, Evan waited silently, trying not to put his full weight on Claudette. The frail girl was much too small to support him fully, and besides, he didn't like leaning on others, anyways. He'd spent his whole life taking care of himself and wasn't about to change that now, even if he was bleeding out.

Though his vision was spotty, he switched between watching Meg and scanning their surroundings, making sure the silent masked killer was nowhere in sight. Because if he did show up again… Evan wasn't sure he'd be able to protect the survivors. His father gnawed at his brain, telling him that protecting those girls wasn't his job - killing them was - that they were weakness, maggots that needed to be put out of their misery.

He shook the thought away, noticing that the dark-skinned girl was staring up at him. He glanced down at her, scowling behind his mask as he tried to focus on breathing properly. "... What?" he finally grunted breathlessly.

Her expression was an enigma. He couldn't seem to read her emotions. Finally, the girl murmured, "s-she does look at you that way."

Evan felt a pang in his chest. His first thought was that the girl was a damned liar. Meg couldn't look at him that way - because she thought he was a heartless monster. A murderer.

And he was.

Rather than answer her, the killer merely looked away and growled lowly in his chest; a warning to leave things along. And the girl did. The loud alarm sounded as the gate finished powering up, and the moment they moved forward, Evan felt the bite of a blade in the back of his shoulder. He let out a groan and shoved Claudette forward, toward the opening doors. And Meg - that brave, stupid girl - didn't run for the gate.

She ran for him.

"GO," he growled in warning as the Shape dug his kitchen knife into him once more. Meg, of course, didn't listen. "Little Rabbit - GO." Grabbing her, he shoved her as hard as he could in the direction of the gate before spinning around and using all of the strength he had left to pick the Shape up clean off the ground, throwing him as hard as his screaming muscles would allow. The masked killer's back slammed into a tree and he slumped against it, briefly stunned.

When he turned back toward the gate Meg was scrambling to her feet - and again, instead of leaving like the other girl had been smart enough to do, she was racing for him, reaching out to grab his hand firmly.

And the moment she did, the entire realm flipped upside down and they were falling.

Falling into vast, open sky.