Moon

His body had cooled down by 3 in the morning, hours after the explosion. Frankie knew that, had witnessed the process firsthand, because he hadn’t let go of his brother’s body the whole time once he carried him to a bench that hadn’t been decimated by the explosion. He had taken his coat off at some point to cover the body, give him any comfort as he passed. And maybe, also, as a punishment for himself. Did he really deserve warmth after he agreed so easily to the plan, an attempt to steal the Christmas tree in Times Square, not because they needed it, but for the love of the game? He could’ve pushed harder against it, couldn't he? 212 trees would’ve been plenty, he could have figured it out. He always had found it hard to say no to Donnie though, not that it mattered anymore. 

He had promised not to betray him, earlier that day in fact. This felt like a betrayal, ripping them apart by the seams. Donnie was all he had, and he went and fucked that up by entrusting that kid–Rupert, was it?–with the bomb. 

Frankie had rambled to Donnie as he died, talking enough for the both of them, trying to fill the awkward pauses left that his brother had usually been so quick to fill. He ran out of steam at around 3:30, falling asleep on the bench, arm draped over Donnie, head lolled to the side. 

“Frankie! Frankie, wake up, why don’tcha?” This was the fifth day he had woken up to that same sentence, and each time he couldn’t be happier. They still lived in a run-down neon strip joint, they still couldn’t afford much food, but his brother was alive. 

It didn’t matter that he had died every day for the past four days, and for two of them, Donnie died alongside him. He woke up the next day anyway, and each day he tried to improve their plan to get the tree. He didn’t want to, really, but he would do it for Donnie. He had to.

“I’m up, I’m up!” He pulled himself up, kicking the thin blanket to the floor. Their space wasn’t much, just a few feet of space tucked into a corner in the back of the joint. The lights flickered, casting multi-colored shadows over their faces. They each had a few sets of clothes they would wear and re-wear, trying to save as much as possible for the opportunity that would surely come for them to leave. 

Donnie stretched before pulling on his jacket, tugging Frankie’s coat off a hook and handing it to him as he changed. “C’mon, we gotta go!”

“Calm down, Donnie,” Frankie grumbled, struggling to get into his coat. The sleeves were inside out every morning, and each day it was an annoyance to get it the right way. “We don’t got nowhere to be yet.”

His brother paced, taking a few steps and turning on his heel, agitation flashing across his face. “We gotta leave, these things take time!” He sounded very impatient. Would he take his time if he knew that he’s died multiple times because he couldn’t slow down? Would that knowledge change anything?

Frankie’s arms finally found their ways through the sleeves, and he shrugged the rest of the coat on. “No,” he insisted, “no! We’re gonna plan this out, ya hear me? We need to get this exactly right, nothing can go wrong.”

“You wouldn’t let anything happen to us!”

How he wished that were true. 

Despite every attempt at changing variables, some things would always work out the same. That fucking kid—Rupert, remember his name, it’s Rupert—always made his way over to them, and always engaged them in conversation, no matter how curt Frankie acted, even flat-out ignoring him. If he didn’t give the kid the bomb, Donnie would grab it from his hands, despite his protests. 

The kid’s dad always got there minutes before the explosion, and someone always got hurt. Whether it was the kid or his dad, Frankie or Donnie. The day took them by the scruffs of their necks and placed them in the same cage to pace around in, giving them a few toys to create a glimmer of hope for change. It never happened. That fifth day, Frankie had gone out of his way to arrive early to the tree, telling Donnie very sternly not to talk to anyone.

In doing so, they walked by the kid earlier, still riding his tricycle, swiping at his eyes as tears fell.

Donnie immediately paused, looking back at the child. “Hey, hey!” He turned to the kid. “What’s wrong?”

Frankie immediately grabbed his brother by the shoulder, bending down until they were eye-level. “What are you doing? I said not to talk to anyone,” he hissed.

“Don’t you remember being children and wishing we had anyone there for us? It’s fine, it’ll be a minute,” he responded, already trying to turn back around. “You good, kid? What’s your name?”

“Rupert. Uhm, my daddy isn’t being a good one and he’s not ever home with us and I miss my brother ‘cause he’s fightin’ Nazis and my mom keeps kicking daddy out and we never get to do Christmas together and—“ as he continued rambling, Donnie shot Frankie a look. They knew that story, given, theirs was slightly altered and they had each other, at least. Well. Never for long, not anymore, but they did when it mattered. However, Frankie chose to ignore the look, bending down to meet the kid—Rupert—at his level.

“Look, I’m sorry, kid. It’ll get better, and I can promise you your father does care about you. You gotta hold onto your family and appreciate them for what they’re worth, ok? But, look, we gotta go—“

“Wait, Frankie!” Donnie tugged on his coat, and he groaned as he stood back up. He knew his back wasn’t currently his biggest problem, but fucking hell does sleeping on the floor every night cause issues. “We can use him…y’know. For the thing?”

“You wanna prey on him while he’s vulnerable?” Frank deadpanned, crossing his arms. Anything to make Donnie feel awkward enough to give up on this course of action.

He huffed, rocking back on his heels. “Nah, not like that! No, but we can give him the duck, y’know? Get him to go in, get out, and we’re safe! We’d make sure he’s fine too, I guess, and we’ve got it! 45 feet of sellable lumber, ain’t that good?”

Frankie started shaking his head, he couldn’t do this again. He wouldn’t watch the explosion for a sixth time, a flash of light and the deafening sound cascading over his senses, the scent of blood and burnt flesh filling his nostrils. Not again. 

Donnie, not giving a fuck, nodded, a grin spreading across his face. He stuck his hand in Frankie’s coat pocket, and before Frankie could move to disentangle the bomb from his hand, Donnie pulled out the inconspicuously duck-shaped bomb. 

He turned back to Rupert, who was still going on, something about his mother and father and brother and a funeral. “Kid, wanna make some money?”

Rupert shut his mouth abruptly, tilting his head. “How much?”

Donnie glanced back at Frankie, who stood back with a look of resigned horror on his face. “60 cents?”

“Is that a lot?”

“That’s like 100 sets of 30 cents!”

“Woahhh…”

“Yeah!”

Frankie had to watch as his brother placed their lives in the hands of an incompetent child for the fifth time in a row, not trusting himself to not go off at his brother. If it would be their last few hours, he wasn’t gonna go and ruin them. 

That night was the worst so far. He didn’t know how it got to be that bad, he should’ve stayed back and pulled Donnie along with him. But watching a child in the direct line of fire for an explosion like that doesn’t mean you get to keep your logic; it means your fight or flight is triggered, and fuck him if he’s not going to try to save the kid. He just didn’t expect Donnie to run after him, that’s all.

Loop 11. 

“Frankie! Frankie, wake up, why don’tcha?” 

He has given up. They wouldn’t be attempting to explode the tree, not again. It wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t stand to watch his brother, the only one he had left to rely on, the only person left that made him feel needed, die again and again.

“Well? Get the fuck up! Big day for the big haul, right?” A laugh from above him, a laugh unburdened by the weight of the scenes Frankie had watched again and again. 

He pulled himself up to a sitting position, knees up, arms crossed over them. “Maybe,” he started slowly, “we don’t go after the tree today. We could just enjoy the day, sell what we already have, ya know?”

“What? No, we gotta do this! We gotta get outta here, and the only way we can do that is by getting this fuckin’ tree!” Donnie spread his arms out, gesturing between them and at the shit hole they have to call home. “It’s the biggest one they have! Think of the pay out.”

Frankie exhaled, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know! But listen, I really don’t think we should do it—I mean, what if something went wrong? I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt!”

He didn’t. Each and every time. It didn’t matter how many times it happened, whether Donnie survived that timeline or didn’t. He didn’t forgive himself for allowing themselves to get into that situation in the first place, for forcing Donnie to grieve, for letting him die the first time. 

Life had dealt them a shit hand to begin with, and continued to taunt him. But the house always wins, doesn’t it? That’s what they always say, and as much as he’d like to play his hand as best he could, it would never be enough.

Donnie thought this over, and a look passed over his face before he let out a sigh of resignation. “Alright, Frankie, I trust ya. You get dressed, I’m gonna go…talk to Reggie for a sec. Yeah…” He wandered off, presumably to go find the owner of the joint. 

Frankie breathed a sigh of relief, dragging his hand down the side of his face. He could save them, they could live in peace, couldn’t they?

He pulled himself up all the way and got his clothes out, leaving his coat hanging on the hook as he made his way out to the larger area. Reggie stood to the side on the phone, Donnie nowhere in sight. He had said he was coming out here, right? Ah, well…maybe he’d gone back ‘round to the back. He approached Reggie, who glanced up at him quickly and began to hurriedly finish his call.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tonight…yeah. Don’t worry about him.” The click of the phone being pressed down into the receiver. The owner turned to face Frankie, crossing his arms. “What d’you want?”

“Have you seen Donnie? He said he was gonna come out to talk with you.”

“Saw him pass by, leave out the front. Strange, usually you guys leave through the window.” An eyeroll, an impatient huff.

Leave? That’s…that couldn’t be good.

“Well, fuck.” Muttered under his breath, panic settling into every movement and thought.

Reggie either didn’t pick up on this, or didn’t give a flying fuck. “Now let’s talk rent. You boys—“

“Have the money! We just gotta sell the trees we have to some strippers, don’t you worry,” Donnie interrupted, stepping out from their area. Frankie didn’t know whether he should be confused as to why Donnie even went around in the first place, or relieved that he wasn’t off getting himself killed. “Now, c’mon Frankie, let’s go,” he said, walking to the door and holding his brother’s coat up—an invitation. Frankie accepted it, striding after him and plucking the fur coat from his hand. The sleeves were still fucking twisted, goddammit. Well, he would take hours of disentangling his sleeves if it meant he was alive and Donnie was there to walk beside him.

“Now, you know we’re not going to the tree, so where would you wanna go instead?” Frankie asked, only half paying attention. Did his coat feel lighter? Or was that just because he usually put it on inside, and by now they were already out in the snow?

Donnie thought this over, sticking his hands in his pockets. “You wanna go to Rockefeller? That’s where the other tree is, yeah? If we’re not gonna steal it, could be cool to see.”

Ah, the Rockefeller tree. The detective had said that that tree was actually taller than the one they had been after, though more heavily guarded because of it. “Sure, Donnie.” 

Donnie jumped up with a grin, and Frankie smiled, sticking his hands in his own pockets to feel the fur, rubbing it against his skin as if to soothe him. They would be alright. 

They made their way through the twisting streets of New York, every so often pausing to point something out to the other, stopping to wish for the money to buy the things that adorned the shelves behind the windows. 

“Woah…that’s a big tree, Frankie,” Donnie breathed as they finally approached the towering Christmas tree. “The pay out would be—“

“We are not going to take this tree. We’re here to enjoy it!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  

It was a beautifully decorated tree, honestly. Lights were strung through every branch, hanging in waves upon waves of glass. They looked up at it together in silence. Frankie didn’t know what his brother was thinking, but he was content to just enjoy the sight.

Donnie shifted, turning a bit to the side. “D’you think if I went to the other side and you screamed my name, I would be able to hear?”

“Ah…” He didn’t want him out of sight, but…surely it would be fine? They weren’t anywhere near Times Square, and he knew that he had the bomb. Nothing would go wrong, and they would be ok. He trusted his brother. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Cool!” 

He watched Donnie run off, shaking off the snow that has fallen on him in the short time they had been still. He was alive, he was alive and would continue to be. 

After enough time had passed that Donnie could’ve reasonably made it to the other side, Frankie called his name. “Donnie!”

Silence. Deafening, deafening silence.

“Well, now we know,” he called again, making his way around to the other side of the tree, hurrying and going faster and sprinting when there was still no response. “Donnie?”

His heart was pounding in his ears, breath coming too fast but not fast enough, a dizzying wave of nausea washing over him. Maybe he was overreacting. Donnie was fine, and just distracted; he has ADHD, you know. Besides, where would he have gone? Frankie had both bombs in his pocket…

Fuck. His coat had felt lighter. 

“No…no, no!” It was a plea to whoever was listening. Let Donnie trip and reconsider his actions. Let Donnie run into a pole and never make it to the tree. Don’t let him make it. Frankie ran faster, hoping his height would give him some kind of advantage, anything, that would let him catch up. But it had been too long. 

But the kid! Rupert! He wouldn’t be one his way home yet, surely that should disrupt the timeline! Surely Donnie wouldn’t do it himself, he didn’t know how the bombs worked or how far away he needed to be to stay safe, he’s not good with numbers, can’t measure distance in his mind. That’s why he needed Frankie, why they worked so well together.

A tremor in the ground, and noise. So much noise.

“Fuck.”

Loop 26.

Over the course of the past 15 days, Frankie had learned some stuff. One of them would die in every timeline, and the minute the soul left its vessel, the loop would reset. Could be just a few hours after they woke up, could be at the same time as the original day. 

The original day was still the worst. That one wasn’t quick, didn’t relieve him of the pain so quickly. 

“Frankie! Frankie, wake up, why don’tcha?”

He wasn’t annoyed, could never be annoyed at his brother. He just felt desperate at this point. Save him, surely that was the point of the curse? Save them both, get them out of their hellscape of a life, and let them make a life for themselves.

He turned over, pulling the blanket farther over his head.

His body had cooled down by 3 in the morning, hours after the explosion. Frankie knew that, had witnessed the process firsthand, because he hadn’t let go of his brother’s body the whole time once he carried him to a bench that hadn’t been decimated by the explosion. He had taken his coat off at some point to cover the body, give him any comfort as he passed. And maybe, also, as a punishment for himself. Did he really deserve warmth after he agreed so easily to the plan, an attempt to steal the Christmas tree in Times Square, not because they needed it, but for the love of the game? He could’ve pushed harder against it, couldn't he? 212 trees would’ve been plenty, he could have figured it out. He always had found it hard to say no to Donnie though, not that it mattered anymore. 

He had promised not to betray him, earlier that day in fact. This felt like a betrayal, ripping them apart by the seams. Donnie was all he had, and he went and fucked that up by entrusting that kid–Rupert, was it?–with the bomb. 

Frankie had rambled to Donnie as he died, talking enough for the both of them, trying to fill the awkward pauses left that his brother had usually been so quick to fill. He ran out of steam at around 3:30, falling asleep on the bench, arm draped over Donnie, head lolled to the side. 

“Frankie! Frankie, wake up, why don’tcha?” This was the fifth day he had woken up to that same sentence, and each time he couldn’t be happier. They still lived in a run-down neon strip joint, they still couldn’t afford much food, but his brother was alive. 

It didn’t matter that he had died every day for the past four days, and for two of them, Donnie died alongside him. He woke up the next day anyway, and each day he tried to improve their plan to get the tree. He didn’t want to, really, but he would do it for Donnie. He had to.

“I’m up, I’m up!” He pulled himself up, kicking the thin blanket to the floor. Their space wasn’t much, just a few feet of space tucked into a corner in the back of the joint. The lights flickered, casting multi-colored shadows over their faces. They each had a few sets of clothes they would wear and re-wear, trying to save as much as possible for the opportunity that would surely come for them to leave. 

Donnie stretched before pulling on his jacket, tugging Frankie’s coat off a hook and handing it to him as he changed. “C’mon, we gotta go!”

“Calm down, Donnie,” Frankie grumbled, struggling to get into his coat. The sleeves were inside out every morning, and each day it was an annoyance to get it the right way. “We don’t got nowhere to be yet.”

His brother paced, taking a few steps and turning on his heel, agitation flashing across his face. “We gotta leave, these things take time!” He sounded very impatient. Would he take his time if he knew that he’s died multiple times because he couldn’t slow down? Would that knowledge change anything?

Frankie’s arms finally found their ways through the sleeves, and he shrugged the rest of the coat on. “No,” he insisted, “no! We’re gonna plan this out, ya hear me? We need to get this exactly right, nothing can go wrong.”

“You wouldn’t let anything happen to us!”

How he wished that were true. 

Despite every attempt at changing variables, some things would always work out the same. That fucking kid—Rupert, remember his name, it’s Rupert—always made his way over to them, and always engaged them in conversation, no matter how curt Frankie acted, even flat-out ignoring him. If he didn’t give the kid the bomb, Donnie would grab it from his hands, despite his protests. 

The kid’s dad always got there minutes before the explosion, and someone always got hurt. Whether it was the kid or his dad, Frankie or Donnie. The day took them by the scruffs of their necks and placed them in the same cage to pace around in, giving them a few toys to create a glimmer of hope for change. It never happened. That fifth day, Frankie had gone out of his way to arrive early to the tree, telling Donnie very sternly not to talk to anyone.

In doing so, they walked by the kid earlier, still riding his tricycle, swiping at his eyes as tears fell.

Donnie immediately paused, looking back at the child. “Hey, hey!” He turned to the kid. “What’s wrong?”

Frankie immediately grabbed his brother by the shoulder, bending down until they were eye-level. “What are you doing? I said not to talk to anyone,” he hissed.

“Don’t you remember being children and wishing we had anyone there for us? It’s fine, it’ll be a minute,” he responded, already trying to turn back around. “You good, kid? What’s your name?”

“Rupert. Uhm, my daddy isn’t being a good one and he’s not ever home with us and I miss my brother ‘cause he’s fightin’ Nazis and my mom keeps kicking daddy out and we never get to do Christmas together and—“ as he continued rambling, Donnie shot Frankie a look. They knew that story, given, theirs was slightly altered and they had each other, at least. Well. Never for long, not anymore, but they did when it mattered. However, Frankie chose to ignore the look, bending down to meet the kid—Rupert—at his level.

“Look, I’m sorry, kid. It’ll get better, and I can promise you your father does care about you. You gotta hold onto your family and appreciate them for what they’re worth, ok? But, look, we gotta go—“

“Wait, Frankie!” Donnie tugged on his coat, and he groaned as he stood back up. He knew his back wasn’t currently his biggest problem, but fucking hell does sleeping on the floor every night cause issues. “We can use him…y’know. For the thing?”

“You wanna prey on him while he’s vulnerable?” Frank deadpanned, crossing his arms. Anything to make Donnie feel awkward enough to give up on this course of action.

He huffed, rocking back on his heels. “Nah, not like that! No, but we can give him the duck, y’know? Get him to go in, get out, and we’re safe! We’d make sure he’s fine too, I guess, and we’ve got it! 45 feet of sellable lumber, ain’t that good?”

Frankie started shaking his head, he couldn’t do this again. He wouldn’t watch the explosion for a sixth time, a flash of light and the deafening sound cascading over his senses, the scent of blood and burnt flesh filling his nostrils. Not again. 

Donnie, not giving a fuck, nodded, a grin spreading across his face. He stuck his hand in Frankie’s coat pocket, and before Frankie could move to disentangle the bomb from his hand, Donnie pulled out the inconspicuously duck-shaped bomb. 

He turned back to Rupert, who was still going on, something about his mother and father and brother and a funeral. “Kid, wanna make some money?”

Rupert shut his mouth abruptly, tilting his head. “How much?”

Donnie glanced back at Frankie, who stood back with a look of resigned horror on his face. “60 cents?”

“Is that a lot?”

“That’s like 100 sets of 30 cents!”

“Woahhh…”

“Yeah!”

Frankie had to watch as his brother placed their lives in the hands of an incompetent child for the fifth time in a row, not trusting himself to not go off at his brother. If it would be their last few hours, he wasn’t gonna go and ruin them. 

That night was the worst so far. He didn’t know how it got to be that bad, he should’ve stayed back and pulled Donnie along with him. But watching a child in the direct line of fire for an explosion like that doesn’t mean you get to keep your logic; it means your fight or flight is triggered, and fuck him if he’s not going to try to save the kid. He just didn’t expect Donnie to run after him, that’s all.

Loop 11. 

“Frankie! Frankie, wake up, why don’tcha?” 

He has given up. They wouldn’t be attempting to explode the tree, not again. It wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t stand to watch his brother, the only one he had left to rely on, the only person left that made him feel needed, die again and again.

“Well? Get the fuck up! Big day for the big haul, right?” A laugh from above him, a laugh unburdened by the weight of the scenes Frankie had watched again and again. 

He pulled himself up to a sitting position, knees up, arms crossed over them. “Maybe,” he started slowly, “we don’t go after the tree today. We could just enjoy the day, sell what we already have, ya know?”

“What? No, we gotta do this! We gotta get outta here, and the only way we can do that is by getting this fuckin’ tree!” Donnie spread his arms out, gesturing between them and at the shit hole they have to call home. “It’s the biggest one they have! Think of the pay out.”

Frankie exhaled, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know! But listen, I really don’t think we should do it—I mean, what if something went wrong? I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt!”

He didn’t. Each and every time. It didn’t matter how many times it happened, whether Donnie survived that timeline or didn’t. He didn’t forgive himself for allowing themselves to get into that situation in the first place, for forcing Donnie to grieve, for letting him die the first time. 

Life had dealt them a shit hand to begin with, and continued to taunt him. But the house always wins, doesn’t it? That’s what they always say, and as much as he’d like to play his hand as best he could, it would never be enough.

Donnie thought this over, and a look passed over his face before he let out a sigh of resignation. “Alright, Frankie, I trust ya. You get dressed, I’m gonna go…talk to Reggie for a sec. Yeah…” He wandered off, presumably to go find the owner of the joint. 

Frankie breathed a sigh of relief, dragging his hand down the side of his face. He could save them, they could live in peace, couldn’t they?

He pulled himself up all the way and got his clothes out, leaving his coat hanging on the hook as he made his way out to the larger area. Reggie stood to the side on the phone, Donnie nowhere in sight. He had said he was coming out here, right? Ah, well…maybe he’d gone back ‘round to the back. He approached Reggie, who glanced up at him quickly and began to hurriedly finish his call.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tonight…yeah. Don’t worry about him.” The click of the phone being pressed down into the receiver. The owner turned to face Frankie, crossing his arms. “What d’you want?”

“Have you seen Donnie? He said he was gonna come out to talk with you.”

“Saw him pass by, leave out the front. Strange, usually you guys leave through the window.” An eyeroll, an impatient huff.

Leave? That’s…that couldn’t be good.

“Well, fuck.” Muttered under his breath, panic settling into every movement and thought.

Reggie either didn’t pick up on this, or didn’t give a flying fuck. “Now let’s talk rent. You boys—“

“Have the money! We just gotta sell the trees we have to some strippers, don’t you worry,” Donnie interrupted, stepping out from their area. Frankie didn’t know whether he should be confused as to why Donnie even went around in the first place, or relieved that he wasn’t off getting himself killed. “Now, c’mon Frankie, let’s go,” he said, walking to the door and holding his brother’s coat up—an invitation. Frankie accepted it, striding after him and plucking the fur coat from his hand. The sleeves were still fucking twisted, goddammit. Well, he would take hours of disentangling his sleeves if it meant he was alive and Donnie was there to walk beside him.

“Now, you know we’re not going to the tree, so where would you wanna go instead?” Frankie asked, only half paying attention. Did his coat feel lighter? Or was that just because he usually put it on inside, and by now they were already out in the snow?

Donnie thought this over, sticking his hands in his pockets. “You wanna go to Rockefeller? That’s where the other tree is, yeah? If we’re not gonna steal it, could be cool to see.”

Ah, the Rockefeller tree. The detective had said that that tree was actually taller than the one they had been after, though more heavily guarded because of it. “Sure, Donnie.” 

Donnie jumped up with a grin, and Frankie smiled, sticking his hands in his own pockets to feel the fur, rubbing it against his skin as if to soothe him. They would be alright. 

They made their way through the twisting streets of New York, every so often pausing to point something out to the other, stopping to wish for the money to buy the things that adorned the shelves behind the windows. 

“Woah…that’s a big tree, Frankie,” Donnie breathed as they finally approached the towering Christmas tree. “The pay out would be—“

“We are not going to take this tree. We’re here to enjoy it!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  

It was a beautifully decorated tree, honestly. Lights were strung through every branch, hanging in waves upon waves of glass. They looked up at it together in silence. Frankie didn’t know what his brother was thinking, but he was content to just enjoy the sight.

Donnie shifted, turning a bit to the side. “D’you think if I went to the other side and you screamed my name, I would be able to hear?”

“Ah…” He didn’t want him out of sight, but…surely it would be fine? They weren’t anywhere near Times Square, and he knew that he had the bomb. Nothing would go wrong, and they would be ok. He trusted his brother. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Cool!” 

He watched Donnie run off, shaking off the snow that has fallen on him in the short time they had been still. He was alive, he was alive and would continue to be. 

After enough time had passed that Donnie could’ve reasonably made it to the other side, Frankie called his name. “Donnie!”

Silence. Deafening, deafening silence.

“Well, now we know,” he called again, making his way around to the other side of the tree, hurrying and going faster and sprinting when there was still no response. “Donnie?”

His heart was pounding in his ears, breath coming too fast but not fast enough, a dizzying wave of nausea washing over him. Maybe he was overreacting. Donnie was fine, and just distracted; he has ADHD, you know. Besides, where would he have gone? Frankie had both bombs in his pocket…

Fuck. His coat had felt lighter. 

“No…no, no!” It was a plea to whoever was listening. Let Donnie trip and reconsider his actions. Let Donnie run into a pole and never make it to the tree. Don’t let him make it. Frankie ran faster, hoping his height would give him some kind of advantage, anything, that would let him catch up. But it had been too long. 

But the kid! Rupert! He wouldn’t be one his way home yet, surely that should disrupt the timeline! Surely Donnie wouldn’t do it himself, he didn’t know how the bombs worked or how far away he needed to be to stay safe, he’s not good with numbers, can’t measure distance in his mind. That’s why he needed Frankie, why they worked so well together.

A tremor in the ground, and noise. So much noise.

“Fuck.”

Loop 26.

Over the course of the past 15 days, Frankie had learned some stuff. One of them would die in every timeline, and the minute the soul left its vessel, the loop would reset. Could be just a few hours after they woke up, could be at the same time as the original day. 

The original day was still the worst. That one wasn’t quick, didn’t relieve him of the pain so quickly. 

“Frankie! Frankie, wake up, why don’tcha?”

He wasn’t annoyed, could never be annoyed at his brother. He just felt desperate at this point. Save him, surely that was the point of the curse? Save them both, get them out of their hellscape of a life, and let them make a life for themselves.

He turned over, pulling the blanket farther over his head.