Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Violence, Language. Story is mostly from the perspective of an unnamed OC.
A/N: Remember how Junior's default look isn't actually his true form, and is really just the appearance of that first kid he met in his debut episode? Since that kid was never seen again, I think it's safe to assume Junior killed him. I started wondering how that kid's family would've reacted to it, and this fic was born.
A tall, stocky man lumbered down the street towards the bus stop.
It was a chilly autumn evening and his stained clothes, which were a few sizes too small, did little to stop the cold wind from nipping at his skin. By the time he reached the stop the bus had already arrived, and he tossed a few coins in the general direction of the farebox. Most missed, with a couple bouncing off the driver's side.
She shot him a nasty glare as he made his way down the aisle, but he paid her no mind.
The bus pulled forward before he sat down, so he lost his balance and landed in one of the seats at an awkward angle. He readjusted himself and rested his head against the window, watching the neighborhood's tacky lawn decorations become a blur as the bus zoomed by.
Some brat a few seats behind him was bawling while his mom yammered away on her cellphone, and the woman in front of him reeked of cheap whiskey and vomit. A wad of gum had been stuck beneath the window, and of course he hadn't noticed the damn thing until his shoulder was pressed against it.
Not that any of it mattered. He wouldn't have to deal with this bullshit much longer.
He had a plan, one that'd he been stewing on for nearly a year now, and he'd finally decided to go through with it tonight.
He was going to jump off the tallest bridge in town.
There were plenty of things (excuses, his mind nagged, excuses) that finally drove him to this point; his bitch of an ex, getting fired, losing his home, but all of those problems could be traced back to one event a little over three years ago.
The disappearance of his son.
He would've gone through with it sooner, when it was summer and everybody was out on vacation, but an ugly little thing called hope convinced him to hang on just a little longer. It convinced him that maybe, just maybe, his kid would pop back up in town, maybe a little scared, traumatized even, but ultimately fine. Crazy shit happened in Endsville all the time, and everyone else always managed to bounce back on their feet.
But a few months later all that hoping got him was a restraining order from his ex-wife and an eviction notice from his cheap apartment.
It was a wasted opportunity, really. The anniversary of his son's disappearance would've been perfect timing.
Oh well.
Sonny's birthday would do just fine.
The man gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes.
Winter camp.
It seemed like such a great idea at the time. It was the middle of July, barely a month since the school closed for summer vacation, and already the parents of Endsville were sick of dealing with their children. He and his wife were no exception.
So when word of a cheap camp in the mountains started to spread, the couple were amongst the first to sign their child up. They even forked over an extra fifty bucks to send him a day early.
Sonny hadn't wanted to go at first, had screamed and cried and even locked himself in his bedroom for hours to convince his parents to let him stay home.
The man had smashed his fists against his son's door, threatened to beat him to a pulp if he didn't come out of his bedroom that instant, but to no avail.
But then his wife stepped forward with sweet, empty promises of delicious hot cocoa and beautiful snowmen, and soon enough Sonny was packing his bags.
He still remembered seeing the boy off as vividly as if it were yesterday. He and his wife were lounging in lawn chairs, soaking up rays and sipping cheap beer as their only child struggled to drag his suitcase out the door.
The school bus was parked in front of their lawn, empty save for the driver slouched over the wheel. The man, frustrated the bus was blocking his view of that pretty, young woman sunbathing across the street, screamed at his kid to hurry up.
Sonny's pale skin quickly turned red under the harsh summer sun, and the dark winter clothes they bundled him in certainly didn't help. By the time he reached the bus his face was as crimson as his scarf and gloves.
But even though beads of sweat were already dripping down from his forehead and the bus driver was yelling at him to get a move on, he still gave them a wide, toothy smile before boarding. A few moments later, after its engine rumbled to life and the bus began to roll down the street, one of the windows cranked open and a small, gloved hand waved them goodbye.
His wife waved back.
He had not.
A week later all but one of the campers came home.
The couple contacted the police, called all the other parents to see if they had any information, and even drove up to Camp Paradice themselves. However, when they got there the place was deserted, with no camp counselor or Sonny in sight.
The police were ultimately useless. Going to the news and plastering their son's face on milk cartons proved to be just as effective.
The closest thing they ever received to a tip was one of the other parents - Howard or Harold, he never bothered to learn that idiot's name - complaining that his kid came back with a stupid looking pair of green glasses.
The man and his wife began fighting soon after.
"Anger is easier than sadness," the marriage counselor told them in a condescending tone. He'd say something like that every session. "You're both blaming the other to try and absolve yourself of any guilt - even though what happened was beyond your control."
The two would pretend to listen, nodding along to each piece of generic advice he offered them, but as soon they left his office they were back at each other's throats.
One night, exactly a year after their child's disappearance, had gotten particularly bad.
The drive home from the counselor was tense and awkward, and the man couldn't tell whether the generic old-timey love songs the vehicle's radio emitted made the ride more or less bearable. As soon as they pulled into the driveway, his wife stormed out of the car and into the house, slamming both doors behind her.
He stepped out of the car and was about to lock it when a high pitched squeal interrupted him. He turned to look across the street.
Under the dim glow of the neighboring house's porchlight was that same young woman he'd been looking at when Sonny was picked up for Winter Camp. She sat on a cushioned bench, curled up against some guy he'd never seen before.
She was wearing a low cut top and a tiny pair of shorts that left very little to the imagination. The man swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
The guy caught him staring and whispered something to the girl. Her pretty little face flushed the nicest shade of red before she buried it in her companion's shoulder, her muffled giggles still loud enough to carry across the street.
Embarrassment welled up inside him and he finally locked the car, then shuffled inside his home.
By the time he made it through the front door, his wife was curled up on the couch, face buried in her hands as she quietly sobbed. A scrapbook laid on the coffee table, its pages opened up to photos of Sonny when he was still a baby.
He remembered that after Sonny was born his wife didn't want anything to do with him. Postpartum depression, the doctors called it. The couple ended up having to dump the boy with her parents for a while until she finally got her shit together.
Most of Sonny's life had been like that; his parents passing him off to babysitters, school, the television, and finally that stupid camp so they could have some "well deserved peace and quiet".
Thinking about it now made him feel sick.
He rummaged through the kitchen shelves until he found an old bottle of whiskey. About an hour later he found himself collapsed in his armchair, more than half the bottle gone and his wife still crying over old baby photos.
He stared at her for several minutes until a brilliant thought formed in the drunk haze of his muddled mind.
Maybe they didn't need Sonny to come back. Maybe they just needed a Sonny.
They could have another one, except this time they'd raise it right, wouldn't ignore it, wouldn't lose it.
So he walked over to his wife, wrapped her in an embrace, and told her just what he was thinking.
The man could feel her tense up in his arms, but instead of letting go he buried his nose into her hair. He thought of that pretty lady across the street with her smooth, flawless skin and perfect figure. He trailed his hands down her sides, not as slim as he'd like, but it would do.
He hadn't expected for her to suddenly start struggling, nor did he expect for five pairs of long, pink nails to dig themselves into his arms. He let go and she jumped back, disgust and fury etched onto her face.
"Honey, I…" he reached for her hand, but she smacked it away.
"Don't fucking touch me." she snapped. "I don't even want to look at you right now."
He frowned and leaned in closer to her. "I was just trying to help."
"Help?" She scoffed and jabbed a finger into his chest. "This is your fault!"
"How the hell is any of this my fault?"
"You're the one who wanted to send him to winter camp!"
"Oh, like you weren't on board. Besides, YOU'RE the one who got him to leave his room!"
What happened after that was mostly a blur.
He said something bad, she said something bad back. It kept going until they both were on their feet screaming at each other. She slapped him across the face, he grabbed her arm, she shoved him, he shoved her back.
She fell, her head colliding against the wall with a loud thud.
He bent down to pull her up, because as mad as he was he hadn't meant to do that, but then something small and hard collided with his eye.
His head reeled back and he pressed his fingers against his eye in an attempt to dull the pain.
"What the fuck did you just…"
He trailed off as he looked down. In the carpet, right in between his shoes, was her wedding ring.
"We're through."
And with that, she stormed out of the house, not even bothering to shut the front door before she drove off into the night.
He'd seen her around town plenty of times after that.
He tried talking to her more than once, but she always brushed him off - not before making a scene though, because of course she just fucking had to. Even tried calling her parents, but they never answered. Probably cut him off too.
He even followed her back to her place a few times, before the restraining order at least.
It was during one of those… excursions when he discovered that not even six months after their split she moved in with another man.
In hindsight, he shouldn't have been too surprised. She always needed someone to leech off of, but damn did it still hurt.
Not too long after he lost his job. He'd never been too great at work, at least according to his boss, but over the past year he'd only gotten worse and worse. They tried to be understanding, his boss claimed, but they just couldn't afford to keep him around anymore.
It was such a bullshit excuse. The man took pride in spitting in his boss's face after that spiel, chances of getting any references from the guy be damned.
He had to move into a seedy apartment building after that. He couldn't afford to live in his old neighborhood anymore.
With the money he had left over the man went to see a shrink who fed him reassuring, empty words with prescriptions of pills whose names he could never pronounce.
Time heals all wounds, the psychologist told him. All of this stems from your son's disappearance. It will always hurt, but it will get easier with time.
But more than three years later, here he was. Jobless, marriage in shambles, and a missing son who for all he knew was probably dead.
He'd tried contacting his ex again, just so he could tell her how she helped drive him to this point, how a good mother wouldn't have sent their kid off to some shady winter camp when the little punk didn't want to go. But despite the dozens of voicemails and text messages he'd sent to her, he hadn't gotten a single response.
So he'd written her a letter and nailed it to her front door, but he doubted she'd ever read it. Hell, the stupid bitch would probably shove it in the shredder as soon as she saw just whose name was signed on the bottom corner.
Not that it mattered anymore.
It'd all be over soon.
The high pitched squeal of the bus's brakes interrupted his thoughts, and he looked out the window.
The park. Four more stops and he'd be at the bridge.
His bored gaze swept over the area. The usually green grass was now an ugly shade of yellow and dead leaves littered the ground. The park was empty save for three kids, one of which was sporting a familiar cowlick and a crimson scarf.
Wait a minute.
The man pressed his face further against the glass.
Could it be?
The child was small, just like Sonny had been. He had the same pale skin and curled dark hair. Hell, he was even dressed in the same clothes; a black winter coat with red gloves and a matching scarf. The only difference was a pair of glasses that now rested on the bridge of his nose.
There was no doubt about it.
It was Sonny.
He was talking to two boys. One of them - a pudgy black kid - was waving his arms, clearly frustrated. The other one - some brat with a giant, bulbous nose - looked like he was laughing.
The two waved goodbye before walking off to the rows of houses that made up the surrounding suburbs, but Sonny went the other direction, further into the park.
He frantically reached out for the thin cord that lined the bus's walls, and as soon as his fingers found the bell pull he yanked down, hard.
The driver slammed on the brakes, and the sudden stop threw him forward into the seat. The brat behind him began to bawl while his mom frantically searched for her dropped phone, and the woman in front of him let out a string of slurred curses.
He stumbled out into the aisle and dashed off the bus, ignoring the angry yells the driver threw after him.
He skidded to a halt in front of the park's entrance.
The other two boys were gone, but his son was still there, sitting cross-legged at the base of a dead tree and scribbling away in a notebook.
He broke into a sprint, the yellow grass and dead leaves crunching loudly beneath his feet with every frantic step.
As he got closer, the boy's head shot up and he stared at him with wide, black eyes behind a pair of lime green lenses.
"Sonny! Sonny!"
"Sunny?" His black eyes squinted in confusion. "It's cloudy."
His voice wasn't quite the same. It was flatter, not as girly. But that was to be expected, it'd been years - it was probably just starting to drop. His teeth were also an ugly shade of green, nearly the same shade as his lenses. Without his parents around he must've stopped brushing his teeth. Stupid, stupid boy.
The man collapsed to his knees in front of him. Sonny seemed startled by this and pressed himself up against the tree like some kind of cornered animal.
He looked real, and god the man wanted to believe it was really him, but he had to make sure. "You're Sonny," he stated, more to reassure himself than anything else. He reached out to grab the boy's shoulders.
"Noooo," a gloved hand smacked his own away before it could make contact. "My name is Junior."
The man blinked. His hand had definitely been struck. Did that mean…
He lunged forward and grabbed one of the boy's arms. The boy shrieked in surprise and tried to yank his arm away, dropping the notebook - was that a diary? - in the process, but the man held it firmly in place.
He roughly yanked up the black sleeve to expose a slim, pale wrist. He quickly wrapped one hand around it, his grip hard enough to bruise.
It was warm, and he could feel the pulse beating rapidly beneath the thin skin. This was real. Sonny was alive. "It's really you," he moaned. "Oh god, Sonny, it's really you."
"I said my name was Junior!" The child was struggling to his feet now, a task made much more difficult by the man clinging to him. "Now let go!"
The man blinked, before letting out an amused snort. Junior? What kind of dumb name was that? But if it was really what Sonny wanted to be called now...
"Okay, junior." The man leaned forward and wrapped the child in an embrace, ignoring his attempts to squirm away.
"I said let go!"
The man tried to shush him and started to rub soothing circles on the boy's back, but instead of relaxing, Sonny's struggles became more frantic.
Thank god the park was empty. It would've been embarrassing if someone got the wrong idea and called the cops on him.
"I don't know where you've been all this time, but it's gonna be okay now," he mumbled. "We'll go back to your mom and the house and everything's gonna go back to the way it used to be." His tone became more and more hysterical the longer he talked, but he didn't realize this.
A sudden jolt of electricity shot through his body, causing him to cry out and let go of the boy he thought was his son. Said boy took this chance to aim a kick at the man's stomach, knocking him backward.
The man grunted in pain, and the impact from colliding with the ground knocked the breath out of him. He raised his head, ready to yell at Sonny for having the audacity to hit him after everything the boy's disappearance had put him through, but what he saw ripped the words out of his throat.
Where Sonny's pale face had once been was now a writhing black mass of tentacles and teeth. At least a dozen green eyes glared at him, and a low growl echoed from the creature's maw.
The man started to scream, but then he was yanked backward, and he heard Sonny's voice, albeit distorted, cry out. "Dad!"
The next thing he knew he was dangling several feet in the air, coils of black wrapped around his midsection. The man punched and scratched at them, kicked his legs wildly in the air, but the inky tentacles never budged.
He looked down to see that the tentacles came from a thin, black creature dressed in a red-accented suit. A pair of green and purple eyes glared up at him, matching the set on the monster that he saw earlier.
The suited creature was familiar looking, and the man could've sworn he'd seen him somewhere before. On a pizza box, maybe?
"What were you doing to my son?" The creature demanded, more tentacles emerging from his back. Some were pointed at him, the tips taking on the forms of fanged jaws that snapped threateningly at the air around his legs, while others were curled around Sonny.
Wait a second. Sonny?
There was no longer a monstrous, fanged beast where his son was once been. Instead, there was the familiar pale face, cowlick, and beady black eyes behind a new pair of glasses. The boy clung to the creature's leg, a scared expression on his face.
It took Sonny. It must've taken him the first time, and just when he'd finally gotten Sonny back, it was here to take him away again. Oh god, oh god, oh god….
The creature must've realized he was staring at him because he ushered the boy behind him. "I asked you a question," he shouted, his tentacles tightening around the man for emphasis.
The man struggled to suck in a breath of air. "Son…" he rasped. "Give… back..."
"Huh?" The creature quirked an eyebrow. The tentacles around the human slackened, but only slightly.
"Give him back!" He slammed his fists on the tentacles as hard as he could. "He's my son, give him back!"
"Your son?" The creature scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Junior's clearly my boy. Can't you see the resemblance?"
"Give him back," the man screeched, spittle flying from his mouth. "Give him back or I'll kill you! I swear I'll fucking kill you!"
The creature's eyes narrowed. "Okay, that's it. I've had enough."
The tentacles with jaws suddenly latched onto him, tearing ragged chunks out of his flesh. The ones wrapped around his midsection began to squeeze, and he could hear the agonizing cracks of his breaking bones
Just when he thought his lungs were about to burst the black coils around him loosened, and he fell several feet, snapping even more bones as he collided with the ground. His head landed at an awkward angle, his cheek pressed firmly against the dead grass, giving him a clear view of the suited creature and his son.
He tried to turn his head, but his body wouldn't listen to him, instead burning with pain. He must've broken his neck in the fall, or his spine when he was still in the air. He opened his mouth to wail in pain, but no sound came out.
It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.
The suited creature dusted his hands off as if he'd just completed some sort of filthy job. He then turned to Sonny and said something about being late to dinner, gesturing to something just out of the man's vision.
ithurtihurtithurt
Sonny nodded, a small, nervous smile on his face. The man's vision started to blur, whether due to tears or his fading consciousness he couldn't tell. He'd dreamt of seeing Sonny smile again for so long, and here it was, directed at some awful monster instead of his father.
ithurtihurtItHuRTITHURT
He could hear them talking, but the sound was muffled by the pounding of his slowing heartbeat. He watched the pair walk off, neither one paying him any mind as they chatted.
Everything went black.
A/N: I apologize if the Nergals seemed OOC (despite their very brief appearance). Junior's been one of my favorite characters from CN since I was a little kid, but I've never actually written for the show before (unless you want to count some awful FusionFall fanfics from middle school that will never see the light of day). I also haven't written horror in a long time, so this was an exercise for both.
I was originally gonna have Junior kill the guy, but I figured a "dad vs. dad" thing would be more interesting. Besides, Nergal always seemed like a good dad (in his own weird way at least), so I figured protective parental instincts combined with his yandere tendencies would equal a real bad time for anyone he thought was trying to hurt his kid.
Anywho, thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is always appreciated!