Disclaimer:Do not own the movie A Nightmare on Elm Street, or any of its characters. Property of New Line/Warner Bros., Wes Craven, Platinum Dunes, and whoever else...
Author's Note:I decided to join the Freddy/Nancy AU with my friend Type Unique Pen Name Here, for au50 at insanejournal. I will NOT be doing this in numerical order.
Extra Note: It should also be noted that this piece was inspired by the song "Written in Blood" by She Wants Revenge. Pretty good song. Check it out on YouTube if you'd like. Might help ya get the feel of this. Might not. Still a good listen.
Chapter Warnings/Notes: Language; disturbing molestation images; creeper-ness (is that a word? Lol); AUness to the extreme!
46. Writer's Choice – Blues
He was an idiot... No, he was worst than an idiot. He was a fucking moron of the highest caliber! He shouldn't be here. He should leave, now! Leave before something happened. Something bad or worse! Fuck why did he have to be so pathetic! He'd left here to keep himself – to keep them; her– safe. Waltzing back into this town was a horrible idea... He should have stayed in Nevada...
He clapped his hands together and breathed into them. He'd forgotten how cold it could get here... It had been fifteen years, though. He was allowed to forget; he had actually tried to. He'd tried damn hard to put this state, this town, out of his mind. It was best that he forced himself to forget this place; forget her.
A shiver ran up his spine. It wasn't from the cold. No he wasn't that cold yet. Shaking his head, he stuffed his hands into his hoodie, trekking forward. He'd dressed as casual as he could to avoid suspicious and curious gazes. His hoodie over a green and white sweater, jeans, his old boots, and no hat. He left his fedora back in his motel room. That hat had been like a symbol for him back then; it was best to not remind others of him.
'Then why are you here if you don't want anyone to know who you are?'That was a good question... One he wished he could answer. He really had no clue as to why he was here. He had promised himself. He'd promised himself fifteen years ago, that he wouldn't come back here. The trials of temptation he had fought hadn't been easy. Leaving here had pained him so... But him staying would have pained others far worse than how he felt.
Mumbling incoherently to himself, he waited at a stop sign to cross the road where a coffee shop and a book store was. That was a new place. It use to be just an Antique store. He wondered, vaguely, what happened to the old woman who had worked it. She'd been the one to help him find stuff for his glove.
He quickly pushed that aside. He'd gotten rid of that thing as soon as he could. If he had stayed... What would he have done with it... No no, he couldn't keep thinking about it. Stuffing his curled fist deeper into his hoodie he crossed the street with an older woman and a few pre-teens. They were all babbling and grinning happily as they dodged around him and ran across the road. Two boys and a girl, the boys tugging and playing childishly with the hat she wore.
He envied them, really. His pre-teen years had been a hell for him. He'd been so awkward and... And so odd... Not to say he wasn't now, he thought bitterly. He was the man who related more to children than people his own age. And he was forty five now, dammit. Yeah.. He envied the ones that were normal kids that would probably grow to be normal adults with a life, a family, and friends.
Sighing, he glanced around him, taking in the familiar, but new, small town shops and roads, before making to grab the door, which was suddenly pushed open roughly, almost knocking into him! He was able to step back before he was rammed in the nose with the door, as someone gave a laugh. "Oh shit, old man! You OK? Didn't see you there," the voice exclaimed as he rubbed his knuckles where the door had jammed into.
He looked up at the male voice and felt as if ice was being shoved into his stomach. No... It... It wasn't... Was it? He stared at the young male with black hair slicked down and intense brown eyes, tanned skin, and and an almost arrogant look to his features, as an image of a small boy with similar hair color and skin stared back at him with a mischief and almost mean smile!
His body shook and he felt his mouth go dry, the ice in his stomach expanding greatly, images of the past flashing briefly before him. In the current time, the young man was looking at him with slight confusion and annoyance. "Hey... Man are you OK?" He asked again, this time sounding rude and annoyed.
"Jesse, man what are you doing in the do-?" No no no! He took a step back from the boy – from Jesse Braun – as an male with curly brown, almost black, hair and auburn eyes with hints of a trouble maker and go with the flow kinda gleam to them, pushed past Jesse to step outside, a book in his hand and one headphone in his ear.
No, no, no, no-! Both of them? Two kids from.. From back then in one day? This was bad! Very bad very very very bad... He couldn't talk. He'd lost his voice, the shock taking over him as the new young man – Quentin Smith – looked between Jesse and him, before giving a lopsided smile. "Sorry about that, sir," he pushed Jesse's arm. "Come on man lets go."
Jesse stared at him with a raised brow and grunted before the two of them began to make their way down the street, away from him. His legs shook as he backed away from the coffee shop and quickly sat on a bench nearby. His heart beat louder than a drum in his ears and wanted to burst from him! They'd grown. Jesse and Quentin had to be about twenty one or so by now... They... They still looked the same. Their baby fat and that overwhelming innocence was gone.. But they were the same.
His hands were shaking as he grasped his knee which began to bounce, flashes of the past in his eyes; the horrible – the fun– things he did to them all. He was always different with the boys. He- He liked to see them hurt. Liked them to feel pain... The girls he wanted to touch and see in bleed. There saltwater tears always tasted so- No!
He let out a choked sob, clutching at his head. Stop it stop it stop it! His curled fists slammed against the side of his head. He made sure not to flail about like he normally would at home. It would not be wise to have attention drawn to him. Attention that could get police involved. No it wouldn't due to have people think he was some loon who needed to be hauled off.
Controlling himself as best he could and straightening himself up, he let out a shaky breath and curled his nails into his jeans. He was a wreck. Fuck why the hell did he do this to himself? Grumbling incoherently he got to his feet and pulled his hoodie tighter around himself before heading off in what he hoped he remembered was the way to the old Springwood Diner.
Maybe some decaf coffee and something to eat would do him good. He hadn't eaten all day and it was a little past noon. With his hands stuffed in his hoodie he made his way down the street, making sure not to bump into anyone or anything. He was good at blending in. At acting normal and uninteresting. It was the reason he... It was the reason he was so good at getting away with what he'd done in the past.
He trekked on down the street, glancing at some of the new shops and flinching when a boy about seven – he almost looked like little Dean – ran into him as he ran from his mother, who apologized before picking the boy up and walking away with him. He stared at where the boy had been and grasped his hands as he shook, recalling the wiggly feel of the boy. Stop that!
He snapped forcefully to attention and quickly walked on, heading for the diner that he spotted at the end of the road before it turned off as a two way road. He stopped at a crosswalk where a few teens were texting, listening to their music, or chatting happily. His eyes traveled across the street where they landed on a couple holding hands. He shuddered and flicked his eyes to the light as walk light appeared. He walked on, doing his best to ignore the couple – Marcus Yeon and Lisa Harper – as they walked past him, both laughing and smiling.
How many more of them was he going to run into? Was this some punishment? He didn't believe in God, but someone or something was out to get him. Out to make him loose his mind! Springwood wasn't a big town. He knew that... But that didn't mean he should be running into them so easily in one day, right?
He breathed into his hands and trekked on to the diner. It was getting late outside and the sun was setting. He held the door for an elderly couple – mumbling his "you're welcome" as they thanked him – before sliding inside. He was immediately engulfed in warmth and the smell of coffee and food. His stomach growled and his mouth went dry as a waitress with stringy brown hair and dark green eyed bangs and piercing all over led him to a booth at the end of the left side of the diner. She handed him a menu and pulled out a pen and pad. "Names Eve and I can take your order. My shifts about up so someone else will bring you your food. What can I get ya?" she asked with a small smile.
"Just a coffee for now," he rasped before frowning. His throat had dried out, making his voice sound like sandpaper being rubbed together. Eve – odd name – wrote on her pad. "Decaf, caf, sugar.. Anything?" she asked and he shook his head. "Decaf... Black, please," he asked, his hands laying flat on the table. Jotting once again on her pad she nodded before giving him another smile. "If you decide you want anything to eat or whatever, just tell your new waitress. We'll have your coffee out quickly," and with that said she walked off.
Once alone he unzipped his hoodie and tugged it off. The diner had warmed him up quickly and he was sweating lightly. Out of his hoodie he was left in a his red and green sweater. It was an old sweater he'd found in one of the boxes he had never unpacked. He couldn't remember why he'd left it stashed away, so he'd opted to wear it for his visit.
Visit.. Hah. More like his punishment. The longer he was here – the more memories he dragged out – the more he felt like he was going mad! His knuckles cracked and he realized he'd been clinching the salt shaker in a death grip. Pushing it away from him, he pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and rubbed them wearily. His nerves were making him tired.
He ran his hands down his face before letting them rest on the table. He stared down at his sweating and shaking palms, his attention drifting back and forth between reality and the past. "-sir? Sir?" He jumped slightly, his eyes wide and his head snapping in the direction of a female voice calling to him. His bleary eyes cleared and his nails slammed into the table. Any color left in him was drained as he stared at a blue eyed teen – almost young adult – with dark brown hair up in a ponytail. She was dressed in the red waitress outfit and stuck to her left breast by her heart was a name tag that seemed to laugh at him. "Nancy," he exclaimed in such a whisper that it was unheard as she plaed his coffee infront of him.
"You can't fall asleep in here," she said as she pulled out a pad and pen, flipping to a new page and looking at him with a weak and almost fragile like smile, "they'll kick you out." His heart was beating a mile a minute and his throat closed in on him as he drank her in. Little Nancy was all grown up. She was like a wilted flower... Blossomed but shy and withdrawn... Just as she had been as a budding child. She clicked the pen before gesturing to the menu he had yet to look at. "Would you like anything?" she asked. He had to stop himself from saying "you" as he pried his eyes from her and did a quick lookover before answering in a small voice. "Hot ham and cheese, please," he grated out, looking out the corner of his eyes to watch her jot down his order. "Will that be all?" she asked polietly and he nodded numbly.
She nodded back before reaching down to take his menu, the back of her hand brushing against his lightly, sending a shock through his body. He stifled a groan as she pulled the menu against her before walking off. His eyes trailed after her hungrily as he held his hand where her skin had brushed his. Stop it! Stop looking! He needed to stop... He couldn't do this! He groaned and held his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples, looking anywhere but at her.
She hadn't remembered him. Not an ounce of recognition had been in her soft gaze as she took his order. It hurt. It shouldn't hurt, though. He should find himself lucky that she didn't recognize him and throw him to the cops for all the things he'd done... Had wanted to do... Fuck but it did! It hurt! And... And it angered him. How could she forget him? He hadn't forgotten her. All these years he'd never forgotten... But she... she..
"Hey, Nancy!" He was snapped from his silent rage as he looked up and watched as a jock like male with short, almost military like style cut, hair and a grin. A grin he fully recognized. Dean Russel? He sat up in his booth to watch the now taller boy as he walked over to Nancy, who looked up and rewarded him with a warm and lively smile. A smile she once given him...
His grip on the table hardened as he watched the two smile and exchange pleasantries as he followed her around, animatedly telling her some kind of big news. He watched them almost hawk like now. When she was younger, he had use to do the same for her and Quentin. The young Smith had once had a childish crush on her – pulled her hair, poked her, chased her with bugs, and the usual small boy flirting – and he hadn't liked it.
"-So the parties going to be at my house! I know they arnt your normal scenes, but you gotta come, Nance!" he exclaimed almost boyishly as the neared his table with his meal. She gave him her work smile as she layed his food out for him, before turning back to Dean. The boy had stopped his ranting and his eager and happy expression had slowly become curious and confused as he stared straight at him.
He stiffened slightly as he looked back at him, their eyes locked. "Dean... Dean? It's rude to stare..." Nancy whispered. Placing her hand on his shoulder hesitantly. As if she were afraid to touch him or him touch her. Dean glanced at her barely before looking back at him. "Do.. I know you?" Dean asked, looking as though he were grasping at something out of his reach.
He felt his blood freeze as he shook his head. "Sorry," he rasped out, coughing to clear his throat, "don't believe we've met," he finished lamely and with force, looking away from the older boy who had once been the only kid he couldn't really catch when he ran. He'd been fast for someone so small.
Dean tilted his head and stared at him for what felt like hours before shaking his head and shrugging. Nancy glared softly at Dean before looking back to give him an apologetic sigh. "I'm sorry sir... Enjoy your meal," and with that she ushered Dean away, berating him softly as he continued to look back and stare occasionally.
"That was too close," he whispered to himself, looking down at his sandwich before finishing off his coffee quickly. He needed to get out of here. This was bad. If Dean could remember him, then the others could. All they needed was the right jar of their memories. Quickly scarfing down his meal – even if he was no longer hungry – he swallowed hard and grabbed money and placed a fairly large tip – larger than what one would normally pay a waitress at least – before walking up to pay his meal.
He was able to quickly shuffle out as Nancy walked back to his table and stared at the tip. He walked on quickly. "Sir!" he froze as he heard shuffling behind him. He refused to turn around as she stopped behind him. "Sir... This is... I mean... You don't have to pay this much..." she sounded awkward and unsure as she walked around to stand infront of him. She was just a tad taller than him now. He had to tilt his head up just slightly to look at her face.
He shook his head stiffly. "Keep it," he rasped, taking a step back from her and walking around. He didn't look back but she felt his stare on her back. He quickly crossed the street and walked and walked until he made it to the Springwood Motel and in his room, hanging his head as he shook and stared at the floor, sobbing until he threw up in the trashcan and allowed himself to pass out.
That night his dreams were not dreams but memories. Memories of Badham.
R & R Plz
Well that was different, wasn't it? I know. I wanted to try a "what if" story. A "what if" Freddy had split town before the parents could find out about what he was doing kinda story. It's not that great of a Freddy/Nancy story, but I did work hard on this.