27. War of Change

Two days passed. Or at least that was what the group guessed. Things continued to fall apart all around them, so much so that many of the remaining killers retreated from their own realms to crowd around the campfire, one of the only places remaining in the Fog that was mostly unaffected. It was still strange to see the Nurse floating aimlessly through the trees or the Spirit sitting next to the Oni, twitching from time to time. Things were very tense due to the overall relationship between the killers and the survivors, but for the most part they were all united by a common goal, which kept blood from being spilled or arguments from starting. Meg had to admit that some of the dynamics she saw were actually pretty funny. The Cannibal had a red string attaching him to the Pig girl - what was her name? Amanda? - and he seemed almost giddily obsessed with her, while she was having trouble not biting his head off, radiating annoyance from every pore. Meg remembered one encounter in particular that was especially funny.

Ace moved a little closer to Amanda, who was sitting as far away from the campfire as possible with her back against a tree trunk. Her expression soured the moment she saw him ambling her way. "You might as well turn around right now and take your happy ass back to the fire," she growled.

"Now why would I do that when we've all become so cozy here together? Aren't we friends now?" Ace asked with a grin, holding a bottle in his hand. It was probably something he shouldn't have been drinking, something he stole from the med-kits, but everything was so chaotic now that no one chastised him for it. "Especially you and the special needs guy. He loves you. L-O-V-E."

Amanda grabbed his sleeve and yanked. It wasn't particularly hard, but Ace was so unstable that he fell flat on his face. When he sat up, he was covered in mud and dead leaves. Instead of appearing angry, though, he just started laughing. When he saw that his bottle had spilled all over the dirt, the laughing stopped. "And here I was gonna offer you some of that. You always this angry, Pig Lady?"

"Yes," Amanda replied flatly, voice clipped. As if on cue, the Cannibal came hobbling over too. He'd left his chainsaw lying around, considering he didn't need it anymore. The more Meg watched them and learned about the chainsaw guy in particular - Bubba was his name, if she heard correctly - the more Meg realized he was just immensely misguided. He wasn't evil or vindictive; he was just following his gut and what he'd been told to do all his life.

It reminded her quite a bit of another killer who'd been doing the same up until recently.

She glanced back at Evan, who was sitting far away from the fire on the other end of the campsite. He'd been sketching a lot since they'd come back from the MacMillan Estate, and she was very content to let him do so. Sometimes she watched, sometimes she let him be; but every time she glanced over at him, his brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a line while he concentrated on his work, she couldn't help but smile.

Amanda's expression darkened when Bubba came to sit down next to her and completely ignored Ace, who was still sitting in the mud with leaves on his chin. "Go away, Special Ed," she hissed, folding her arms over her chest. She stiffened up when Bubba slung a hairy arm around her shoulders, either not hearing her or simply not caring.

"Pig Lady good," he said happily. "Pig Lady friend."

"I am not!" Amanda growled, her short hair sticking up all over the place. She looked immensely frazzled, but there was something about the blush on her cheeks that made Meg think that maybe, just maybe, she secretly liked it. Giving him a little shove, Amanda gave him the dirtiest look she could manage. "Now get off me you fat tub of lard before I gut you like a pig!"

"Pig! Like pig lady!" Bubba grabbed her around the waist now, oblivious to her threats. "Pig Lady come with Bubba! Go see the Pigs!"

Nea, who'd come up beside Meg to watch the show, folded her arms over her chest. By this time most everyone was watching from their various spots at the campsite. "Does he mean the corn fields?" Nea asked, raising a brow.

"It's the only place I know with pigs, maybe other than the warehouse… though with all the glitching in the realms, I have no idea how they'll manage to get there..."

They didn't have long to ponder because suddenly Amanda was yelling obscenities while being thrown over Bubba's shoulders. She beat on his back with tiny fists and kicked her legs desperately, but the killer was much too large to feel or be deterred by her angry rampage. "LET ME DOWN!" Amanda shrieked as Bubba began carrying her off into the woods. "LET ME DOWN YOU PEA-BRAINED ASSHOLE OR I'LL…" Her screams faded the further he disappeared into the woods, and only after all was silent did almost everyone around the campfire burst into laughter.

"What the hell just happened?!" Meg wheezed, holding her stomach from laughter.

Of all the things they'd witnessed in the Fog, Bubba carrying a shrieking and writhing Amanda off into the woods was by far the most absurd. It was exactly the kind of thing that helped raise everyone's spirits in such an uncertain, tense time. Remembering it still gave Meg a chuckle and it was often brought up when chatting around the fire.

Heading over to a secluded corner of the campsite, Meg offered Quentin some of her water bottle. He hadn't left Cheryl's side since they'd rescued her at Midwich, and she doubted he would until she was better. At the moment, Cheryl looked much, much worse. Meg frowned deeply as she sat down next to Quentin. "How is she…?" she asked quietly.

Quentin seemed to be holding it together well, considering how worried he'd been. "Claudette gave her the poison… so she's kinda supposed to look like this. But look." He reached out, pointing at Cheryl's hands. While the skin still looked pretty awful, the black veins of the Entity were fading.

"It's working?" Meg gasped.

"Yeah." Quentin gave a half smile. "And IF Claudette can figure out the antidote… then Cheryl will be good as new. The only problem is, she doesn't have long. And everyone's made sure Claudette has been eating and drinking, but she refuses to sleep at all until she gets it. I would try to make her sleep, because I can see she's exhausted… but if she gets some sleep…"

"... then Cheryl's a goner," Meg finished grimly. She hated the situation they were in. Claudette was killing herself trying to save Cheryl's life, and Cheryl had nearly killed herself saving Meg's life. Meg didn't know how to repay either of them. She doubted she would ever be able to.

And Evan, too. He'd lost an arm saving her. Killed for her. Betrayed the Entity itself for her.

Meg glanced over at Quentin. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever. "You know you can't do much else for her right now," Meg said. "Why don't you get some sleep? You're exhausted too."

Quentin smiled forlornly. "I'm used to being awake. Besides… the one person that helped me sleep is gone. Sleep has… been extra hard to come by since then."

Meg frowned, setting a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder and still marvelling at the red string connecting them. The same string that connected Quentin to Cheryl, and Meg to Evan, and many other survivors and killers all to each other. Thankfully the strings were not fully materialized because they would all be in a massive tangle with how many there were throughout the whole campsite. Meg's eyes followed the second and only other string connected to her; the one that led right to Evan. As if following it in a trance, she gave Quentin's shoulder a squeeze and stood up, slowly making her way over to the giant of a man who sat with his back to a tree in the recesses of the camp, far away from the others. He stayed there most of the time, with the exception of when Claudette approached him with a question or when Meg dragged him off into the woods to kiss him again. Meg warmed at the thought. He'd been responding to her touches with fervor; if there was any fight left in his mind about being with her, he didn't show it. Instead there was a hunger and intensity that she'd never felt directed at her before. And she hoped she matched it with her own eyes.

Meg approached Evan and when his gaze lifted from the paper in his hand, his expression softened. "Little Rabbit," he rumbled.

"Dumb turtle," she greeted back with a half-smile. Settling on the dirt next to him, she peered over his bicep to look at the subject of his latest sketch. "I bet seeing that would just make Nea's day," she said playfully.

Evan grunted. Clearly her teasing was not appreciated. Meg touched his forearm reassuringly. "It's really impressive actually, how you're doing all of that with one hand," she commented. "How is your arm…? I think we should change the dressing again."

Evan's brows furrowed and he shifted uncomfortably, refusing to answer. Meg's eyes narrowed on him. "Is it infected?" she demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?" Despite his grunts of protests and the shifting of his massive body to try to resist, Meg grabbed the bicep of his amputated arm firmly, leaving no room for argument. As she began unfurling the wrappings around the stump, she gasped.

It was certainly not infected. At least, not in the traditional manner. But she did recognize it; the same spidery black veins she'd seen on Cheryl's hand were now crawling up Evan's arm, and the stump was completely black. On closer examination, her brows furrowed. "Wait…" she finally met Evan's gaze. "It's… it's growing back?"

He grunted again. "Yes," he answered reluctantly. "But… hurts worse."

Meg frowned. If he was in that much pain, he did an excellent job at hiding it. She wouldn't have known it was any worse at all. Had he purposely been hiding it from her? "Why haven't you told me?" she growled. "I could've helped! I could've…"

"Could have what?" his eyes narrowed on her and his scarred lips curled into a scowl.

"If it's the same thing that afflicted Cheryl… then it's… it's killing you!" Meg hissed. "What about the herb concoction you and Claudette came up with? If it's working on Cheryl, it'll work on you!"

"Not… enough." He shook his head. "Not enough… time."

Meg growled, frustrated. It was as if he'd already given up. "Is this about what we talked about on the way back from the mines? About possibly getting thrown back into our own worlds? So you're just going to give up, then?"

Evan averted his gaze, brows drawn in, and she could see that he felt conflicted on the matter. "Let it go," he rumbled softly.

"No!" Meg stood up. Her raised voice had drawn the attention of a couple of the survivors on their side of the campfire. "You're getting out of here, you're coming with me, we're going back together, and we're going to make our way through the modern world to-ge-ther!"

Evan gingerly set down his charcoal and paper with his good hand and clambered to his feet, towering over her. The expression on his face was dark - dark enough to make her hesitate. Then he turned and walked off into the woods. Meg's first instinct was to follow him. She didn't want to lose him again. But she knew that trying to escalate the conversation wouldn't help matters. So instead she collapsed in a heap where he'd been sitting and found the lingering warmth on the ground comforting. Sifting quietly through the papers she'd left behind, she noticed that all of his new creations were of her and the other survivors. Nea had been his latest. He'd also drawn Quentin; and there were splotches on the drawing that weren't on the others, reminiscent of raindrops that had dried and stained the paper. It hadn't rained near the campfire lately as far as Meg was aware; so where did the splotches come from? Why were they on Quentin's portrait, but no one else's?

The realization hit her like a truck and her own eyes brimmed with tears.

Evan had cried.

Suddenly Meg felt awful for approaching the topic of his arm the way she had. She was scared, frustrated, and close to hopeless; but she should have had a more adult conversation with him. This was one of the few times Meg realized just how different in age they were; if or when they did get out of here, would they realize in the real world that they were on two different paths of life? Would they be unable to reconcile their differences and work together to build a life together? Meg had only been 18 when she'd been taken to the Fog. She knew now that she was decades older mentally, but physically her body was still young. She hadn't aged, and neither had anyone else. But Evan, he'd been a fully grown man when he'd been taken. A grown man from a completely different era.

Would they really be able to make it once they got back to the real world?

Meg set down the paper, digging into her pocket for something that was now folded too many times and practically falling apart; but she'd used the tape from the medkits to keep it together. The first drawing he'd given her; a portrait of her with his real name scribbled at the bottom. Looking at it for a long moment, Meg felt her heart rate slow and her breath come a little more easily. Even during the times she'd felt conflicted about Evan, or downright hated him, this drawing had comforted her. It had always reminded her that even in this hellish place, a place no one deserved to live in, there was a small ray of goodness. A hint that there was still some hope for even the most tormented souls.

Quentin felt a surge of guilt followed by excitement when Claudette approached them holding a small container. "I think I've got it," she murmured, rubbing at the bags under her eyes with one hand. "We'll administer it… a-and wait and see."

Quentin crouched next to the girl and assisted in holding Cheryl's head up so Claudette could force the antidote down her throat. When they were positive it had gone down, Claudette sat back on her haunches and let out a small breath. Quentin reached out for her, touching her arm. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "Thank you. Claudette… you should get some rest now. I'll wait for her to wake up."

Claudette looked for a moment like she was about to argue, but Quentin reassured her he would wake her up if things went wrong. Her exhaustion won and she retreated to her tent to try and get some much needed rest before everyone was to gather their resources and try to escape this place. Quentin felt his own eyes drooping heavily, but he forced himself to stay awake for when… or if… Cheryl woke. He found himself wishing more than ever that he'd been able to bring his Zoneral with him into the Fog. He hadn't been this tired since he and Nancy had stayed up for days trying to run from Freddy.

Thankfully… he didn't have to worry about the wrinkly bastard ever again. Or at least he hoped he didn't.

The most unlikely person broke Quentin from his thoughts when they sat next to him. He looked over to see Ash Williams staring at the fire, his hands, one metal and one flesh, grasping each other. "Are you alright?" Quentin asked.

"When I heard how many of us have kicked the bucket, I was unfazed," Ash said, his expression unreadable. "Seen a helluva lotta death. Kicked a lotta ass. Lost a lotta people."

"It never gets easier," Quentin replied quietly.

Ash glanced over at him. "It does. You become numb to it after a while."

Quentin twiddled his thumbs pensively. "So you don't care about losing your friends, anymore? Loved ones? It doesn't hurt when they leave?"

"Don't make attachments and ya can't get hurt, kid."

"That doesn't sound like a good way to live."

"Perspective," Ash replied dismissively. "Before I got dropped in this shithole, I kicked ass every day, got all the poon I could want, and never had to worry about watching my friends suffer. I got to play hero all day, all night. So I'd say it was a pretty groovy way to live."

Quentin quirked a half-smile. "Sounds lonely."

Ash stared back at the fire. "Heh. Maybe."

"What are you going to do, then?" Quentin leaned in, interested. "When you get back?"

Ash's expression hardened a bit. Before he could answer, though, Meg approached them, followed by Jake with Susie, and Nea with the Wraith trailing behind her. "So what's the plan?" Nea demanded.

"Has Cheryl woken up?" Jake asked.

"Not yet. I'm hoping she'll pull through." Quentin frowned slightly. "But if she does, we need to be ready. We don't have very long. Do you think we should open the portal in Midwich, again?"

"It amplified her power, right?" Nea folded her arms over her chest while the Wraith chittered softly in agreement. "So that would be our best bet, I think."

Meg approached the group, stuffing some sort of paper into her pocket. Jeff also approached from the other side of the campfire, along with several others, curious as to what the plan was going to be. Jeff didn't speak often, but when he did, it was usually important. "How will the Entity combat us?" he asked softly.

Quentin frowned. Admittedly, he hadn't thought of that considering the Trapper had gotten rid of all of their biggest enemies, and Jake and his crew had taken care of the Shape long enough for them to put their plan into action. What else could the Entity do, besides appearing before them in its own flesh? "I haven't thought of that," Quentin replied miserably. "We've already gotten rid of the killers the Entity was using to do its bidding… I'm not sure what else it could throw at us. But I bet it's going to try something."

"Luckily for us, we've got some pretty strong people on our side, too," Nea chipped in confidently. "I'm not all that worried about it. I mean, what could the Entity do that could bring the fucking Oni to his knees?"

"Our gravest mistake would be to underestimate the Entity," Quentin admonished seriously. "I'll bet it's listening in right now, as we speak."

His response got a chitter of agreement from the Wraith, to which Nea responded by looking up at him with a scowl. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side!"

The way the Wraith shrank under her stare was almost comical and Quentin cracked a smile. Despite all the suffering they'd endured here, he was going to miss many of these people. Finally the group made a half-assed plan: take Cheryl to Midwich once she was ready, have her open the portal, and band together with the killers to defend her from the Entity - and then jump through, no matter where it took them.

Because anywhere had to be better than here.

After the group dispersed to try and rest, Meg approached Quentin and sat next to him, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. He knew right away it was one of the Trapper's stupid drawings and he resisted the explosive urge to just throw it into the fire. He didn't want to see it, didn't want to hear Meg gush over it. But when she unfolded it, the contents of the paper surprised him.

Quentin's face was on that paper.

Silently, Meg offered it to him. He stared at it for a long moment before taking it with numb fingers. "You know… I don't think even Nancy ever drew a portrait of me," he mumbled, looking down at the picture; slightly smudged with what looked to be wet stains on the parchment. He looked up at Meg. "Why did you show me this?"

She only smiled ruefully, before getting up and retreating to her tent.

Frowning thoughtfully, Quentin returned his gaze to the portrait, examining it closely. Maybe she just wanted to show him the Trapper had changed. Despite all the good things the killer had done lately, Quentin still had his own personal grudges. He wasn't usually the type to hold on to resentment, but he supposed getting one's head brutally crushed in a fucking bear trap could change a person's mind on the issue.

As his eyes roved the splotchy paper, they lingered on the wet splotches that marred the sketch. It hadn't rained around the campfire, had it? Maybe he was losing his mind. Because the only other thing he could think of was that the Trapper had been crying when he drew the picture.

Which was absurd.

The moment Cheryl's eyes opened Quentin was next to her, waiting for her to clear the grogginess before he spoke. Others saw his urgency and came to investigate as well, and before she knew it Cheryl was surrounded by survivors and even a few killers who all watched her expectantly. "I'll bet I look terrible," she finally croaked.

Quentin smiled ruefully. "No worse than I do."

"So is it showtime…?"

"Not quite yet. I'm going to need you to be able to stand up first." Quentin shook his head, still smiling. Cheryl really was one of the most resilient, tough people he'd ever met. Being in a place like Silent Hill must've given her incredibly thick skin. Knowing what she'd had to go through for most of her life still upset him - but their main priority at the moment was getting the hell out of the Fog. So he'd have to put her in danger one last time… but he made a vow right then and there that once they returned, he'd find her and he'd take care of her. He'd make sure she'd never have to be tough ever again. It was the least he could do for someone who'd done so much for him, someone he truly cared about.

He hadn't been able to protect Kate; by god he was going to protect Cheryl, even if he had to die to do it.

Meg went to find Evan the moment she heard Cheryl talking to Quentin. The further she got from the campfire, the more her surroundings began to warp themselves. Fear settled in her heart - fear that she may get lost once again. That the Entity would wrap her up in that neverending darkness like it did before, and that this time she'd never make it out. That she'd spend eternity alone and losing her mind.

But thankfully Evan hadn't gone too far. His hulking form, looming near a tree, was a light in the foreboding mist, and she gravitated toward him instantly. "Evan," she said softly, coming up from his right side carefully. "Cheryl… she's awake."

He turned his head to look down at her with those eyes, which were now more green than white. She could see black veins and tendrils crawling all the way up to his shoulder from the stump of his arm, and the wrappings had been discarded - because the stump had already regrown down to the wrist. "It's worse," she whispered.

"Yes." His voice was flat.

"Listen… I know I went about our conversation earlier the wrong way," she began, taking a few more tentative steps toward him. "And I'm sorry. I just… I'm afraid. Afraid of what we're going to come back to. And hearing that you may not even leave… I don't know… I just… was confused. And angry. I guess what I needed - need - to know… is why?"

Evan heaved a sigh. Meg could tell it wasn't something he wanted to talk about - but she needed answers before they all threw themselves into this final showdown. "Don't you want to be with me…?" she asked softly, her hand coming up to touch his good arm.

"I do." Muscles jumped and flexed nervously under her fingers. "But… if we… get sent back… to our own realms…" He glanced away. Meg waited patiently for him to finish. Finally, he said, "my home - there is… nothing left… for me. If… if I am not… with you… I have… no reason… to go back."

Meg bit down on her lip, the pieces clicking into place. His life even before the Fog had been miserable and full of abuse. Of course he wouldn't want to go back there. Too many memories - of his piece of shit father, of his broken home, and of the terrible things he'd done. Meg could understand that fear completely; she had her own reservations about returning home. "The truth is," she finally responded, her voice soothing, "we don't know what's going to happen. Maybe… maybe if you take my hand when we jump through… it won't separate us. If I can help it, I'll never let you go back there. You don't belong in that place anymore." She peered up at him, hoping he was listening. "You belong with me."

Evan finally returned his gaze to her and his arm shifted, his large, calloused hand taking her own in its grasp. His skin was warm, full of life, and his eyes were more alert than she'd ever seen them. His expression was soft. "I do," he rumbled.

She gave his hand a squeeze, her eyes shining. "Then don't give up on me. Let's get out of here. Together."

The journey to Midwich was nothing short of chaos. Due to the inconsistent nature of their surroundings, the survivors and the killers had to stick together closely - much more closely than most of them wanted or anticipated (holding hands felt like kindergarten and it sucked) - in order to make it there. Cheryl was still in pretty weak condition and Quentin was becoming increasingly worried that this final battle would kill her. That was the last thing he wanted to happen, but he had no idea how to prevent that or how to help her. He tried to reassure himself with the knowledge that, when the time came, if the opportunity presented itself, he would gladly and instantly give his life for her own.

But, he had to admit as they all trudged through the darkness, there were plenty of other things he'd rather be doing than holding the Oni's hand. "Your fingers are sweaty," he mumbled under his breath, earning a weak giggle from Cheryl who was leaning on him for support. Looking back and then looking forward, Quentin made sure everyone was still in their positions and that no one had gotten lost. The line was as follows: The Trapper, Meg, Claudette, the Hillbilly, Jake, Susie, Quentin and Cheryl, the Oni, Yui, Dwight, David, Nancy, Jeff, the Nurse, the Wraith, Nea, the Hag, Bill, Tapp, Ash, Ace, the Pig (who was highly displeased about being stuck between her least favorite people and made open threats the entire time), the Cannibal, the Spirit, and the Plague to bring up the rear. It was a long line and definitely uncomfortable, but seeing killers and survivors working together… it was strangely a little heart-warming. It reminded Quentin that not all of the killers in this realm enjoyed their job or even wanted to do it. Some of them were truly just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

But now they were all together, one united front, and they would be leaving this place soon if it was the last thing they did.

The moment the Trapper kicked open the rusty, half-broken doors of Midwich Elementary, the whole crew was greeted by the sight of razor trails all over the place. The Executioner had been restless, constantly patrolling his empty domain. Without a purpose, without a job, Quentin imagined that Pyramid Head was all unbridled rage. He could be a powerful ally, or a terrible foe. Hopefully seeing Cheryl would quell his anger and he would work with them to sustain the portal and return them all to the real world.

The group had no sooner stepped into the hallways of the school than the Pyramid Head came toward them, dragging his great knife behind him. He made a beeline for Cheryl, grabbing her without hesitation and hauling her over his shoulder with his free hand. Quentin couldn't pretend he knew the jailer's true motives, but the red strings connecting them were still there and glowing brightly - so he had to have faith that the killer was still on their side.

Into the courtyard everyone went; it felt strange to not have to look over his shoulder for once. Quentin was so used to the death and destruction that came with this place that safety was a foreign emotion. The Executioner took Cheryl right over to the large bloody seal in the middle of the courtyard, setting her down on her feet and seeming to hover around her, waiting expectantly. As if he knew what she was going to do, and was ready to return home as well. Quentin and Claudette both rushed over to the blonde and held her steady, willing to do whatever it took to make this easier for her; giving them both a tired and grateful smile, Cheryl slowly lowered to her knees and placed her still-battered hands flat on the ground, right over the red marks etched into the surface. "Here goes nothing," she muttered, closing her eyes and focusing.

The ground began to move. At first Quentin assumed it was Cheryl's powers activating a portal out of the Fog, but then he realized there was also another source for the rumbling. It came from all around them, from other parts of the school, and the group in the courtyard struggled to remain upright with how the earth beneath them trembled. Quentin felt winds begin to tug at his beanie, threatening to take it right off, and one hand held it down while the other helped brace Cheryl; he could see black magic sprouting from the spot where her hands were, and knew it was beginning to work; but the rumbling from elsewhere was becoming concerning.

And soon he saw why.

In both courtyard entrances stood the killers.

The ones that had been defeated by Evan and the others.

The Entity had brought them back.