#sisterslain

                   𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇    ʜᴀꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ  ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ   𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍   ꜱʜᴇʀɪꜰꜰ

              DIFFERENT BREEDS OF BOOGEYMEN with different methods flourished in their respective environments, but the mutuality of a violent nature did not prevent them from preying upon each other. all monsters must rest eventually, even if rest was found in the briefest seconds of occasional microsleep - where he was always waiting. patience was never one of freddy's virtues, but he'd taken to seeing it like the buildup to the climax of a good plot ; the wait, the teasing - it made it better. 

              like a worm, he makes his way through the orchard that was the subconscious, harvesting buried insecurities and traumas, storing them for later. every time michael feels his eyelids grow heavy, it served as an opening for freddy to present himself. he wouldn't personally pursue this lamb yet, not so soon ; not before he succeeds at making myers dread sleeping at all.

              the first dream he offers, michael is hospitalized, only at the mercy of the doctors around him. there is no screaming, ( not that any had been expected ; didn’t expel the lingering disappointment, though ) but seeing michael's wrists strain against leather binds made up for it - just slightly. the following nights share the same pattern - placing him under surreal medical scrutiny, shunned and berated by nurses and doctors alike, all the while binding him to a dirty mattress, eager to chafe any skin it made contact with.

              a doctor - one pulled from michael's memory, procures a needle from the metal rolling table next to the patient bed, and teases it along the inside of michael's arm. loomis' form hovers just at the edge of his vision - he can't see him, but he knows he's there, a belief only cemented by the " inject him. " in an all too familiar voice. ( the elevated heart rate, faster breathing, no matter how subtle, was something to take pride in. ) the puncture, when it happens, is sudden and messy - hurts far more than it should, and wakes him up immediately - and it's vindicating to see the slightly ragged rise and fall of his chest, the way jumpsuit began to cling to sweaty skin. the trickle of blood down michael’s arm from the puncture wound does not go unnoticed.

              freddy notes the subtly of michael's fear - if you could even call it that. discomfort, perhaps ? didn't matter - what mattered was that he saw something he liked. krueger decided then, that michael would fall asleep once more, and then never again. and god, did michael try to resist the urge. freddy had the passing gripe that his lamb might die from exhaustion before he got to play with it. however, as bestial as michael was believed to be, he was still of flesh and blood, and once more sunk into sandman's embrace.

              michael is upon the same bed again, though rather than in the moderately climate and sanitary haddonfield memorial, a jungle of pipes and flickering flames made up his surroundings. even the thin fabric of the hospital gown couldn't soothe the torturous heat against his skin. freddy appears before him in between blinks, suddenly and in medical scrubs. another blink, and he is in normal dress.

" you know what they say about difficult patients - " 

              a index flicks outward, claw wavering in the air on the onset of a new sentence. 

" they can only be helped, " blade moves, and a long, thin slit is made right upon michael's torso, lengthwise, from the center of his chest, to the bottom of his stomach, razors slicing through fabric and the first few layers of skin with ease. 

              it's not a deep cut, but enough to allow blood to well up and seep into the surrounding cotton. another cut, with the same razor, is placed upon his collarbone, from shoulder to shoulder.

" if they want to be helped. " freddy reaches a blade to tap once upon michael's nose. " but you've always been difficult, right michael ? " he makes sure to enunciate the other's name on his tongue, a petty taunt. " rotten seed - a real bad boy. "

              claws hover above a bleeding stomach in contemplation. freddy gives him a look up and down, amused at how the other still made consistent attempts to free himself of his fastenings. you think he would have learned.

" so were you always this fucking dull ? hell, i can't even imagine being as empty as you. "

              and freddy can't help but feel robbed. even staring at michael, maskless and vulnerable, there wasn't anything behind eyes of pitch. he liked to see the fruit of his labour, and all he was getting was a stone cold ' fuck you '.

" let's see what exactly you're missing. "

              knives plunge into soft belly flesh without any more warning, red bubbling from the four wounds in earnest. a noise passes through michael's lips - not a scream, rather than a notable exhale, accompanied by staggered and quaking breaths. freddy teases twisting his wrist sharply to the left, enjoying the way meat squirmed beneath him every time he threatened to move his hand. he began a slow cut upward from the original wound, sawing his away through muscle and sinew, blades wading through intestines until he reached the lower ribs. 

              flesh bleeds profusely, and hangs like christmas ribbon after an encounter with a particularly eager cat. he pulls out of the wound, instinctively flicking his wrist to rid the blades of any excess blood or gristle that hadn't been caked on to metal. freddy shoots michael a gaze - something that was a cocktail of both disgusted and thoroughly amused. michael is dying, shaking upon the bed, the once pale gown draped over his nude body now tattered, a wet and deep red. 

and he leans in close - far too close ;

" wonder if you got a heart in there ? "

thrusts his bare hand up into one of the freshly made cavities, up, up between the ribs, curious and wandering digits exploring the warmth of a fading human body.    

Thoughts on…