Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello, and welcome to my collection of reader-instert slasher headcanons and oneshots! 

Here is a list of characters I will be writing for:

• Thomas Hewitt
• Bubba Sawyer
• Pennywise
• Art The Clown
• Jason Voorhees
• Michael Myers (Original and RZ)
• Freddy Krueger 
• Brahms Heelshire
• Billy Loomis
• Stu Macher
• Mark Hoffman
• Norman Bates

I do requests!!

If you have a oneshot or headcanon request, go ahead and put it in the comments. Even if you don't see a specific character! I'm probably forgetting a few anyways.

 As for things I won't do, anything goes, really; There's honestly very few things I won't write. 

Without further ado, please proceed, and enjoy…

Chapter Text

You were his favorite person in the world.

Seriously.

You were perfect; You laughed at all of his jokes, even if they were incredibly corny. You were overall very nice to everyone you met. You didn't seem to care that he was a little off his rocker sometimes. You were pretty. All of this, bundled into one person that completely changed his life when she agreed to be his girlfriend.

It really ended up that way on accident, though he was happy with how it all turned out. He remembered it so clearly.

It was just a normal day, where you were both just hanging out in the store. You had begged Stu to drive you there because your own car had just up and decided to break down in your garage, and he relented, like he normally did when it came to you. Then he was stuck watching you as you fiddled through shelf after shelf of books, swearing that you had just seen the specific book you were looking for just yesterday in that exact spot. You looked so serious, your jaw twitching occasionally. He watched you, providing commentary, which made you smile and laugh and relax. Which was the whole point.

By now, Stu knew he had a crush on you. It was as plain as day. He just couldn't get passed the thought that you saw him as just the goofy friend who could make you laugh. And he liked making you laugh; Watching your face split into that heart melting smile, the sound of your laughter, made it worth it. He just knew he could, and wanted, to be something more to you.

Stu had (And still has, as you often reminded him nowadays) a tendency to hover over you. Be it just who he was or the fact that he liked you, we'll never know. He was doing just that as you had rounded the bookshelf to the other side, and found yourself face to face with the romance section.

Whether you intended to get there or not, Stu made a very immature "OOoOooo~" sound that had made you shake your head and scoff at him with a smile on your face. Regardless, you scanned through the books, just in case. Stu did too, but didn't find much of anything interesting. Lots of books with big muscled men in tight shirts, or even missing a shirt entirely, adorned a good few of the covers, with cheesy titles. Obviosuly geared toward the female audience.  But it was funny watching your eyes promptly skip over those ones.

"Ooh, look at this one," He said, plucking one off the self and holding it against his chest and speaking in the most dramatc, breathy, fake lovesick voice you've ever heard. "I love him. Ugh, he's so hot. Almost as hot as me-" "Stu, cut it out!" You said with a restrained giggle, trying to shove the book away from him, glancing sheepishly at two random old women who walked by and gave him the stink eye. But, in classic Stu fashion, he didn't care.

He put it back though, for your sake more than anything.

"C'mon, don't lie to me; You meant for us to wind up here." He teased you, wiggling his eyebrows. "You like these kinds of books." You scoff. "No I don't." You huff, moving a book to peek behind it. "Really? You're not fooling me. With how much of a hopeless romantic you are, don't count me surprised~" He follows you as you go to the next section, trailing you like a lost puppy.

"You know, intead of trying to set the mood by bringing me there you could have just asked me out."

The joke came out before he could stop himself.

And the way you had looked back at him, your cheeks tinged pink, it suddenly wasn't a joke anymore.

"It was an accident, I didn't mean to wind up there." You muttered. But the silence hung heavy between you. It had to have been then, he remembered thinking.

Breathe, Stu.

"… I think you'd look good on a book cover."

… Really? Thats what he came up with? That was cheesy as fuck!

He'd pretty much accepted his fate and tried to lean against the shelf in the most nonchalant way someone who just said something like that could.

To his surprise, you laughed.

"On a book like these ones?" You snicker. "Sorry, but I'd like to keep my dignity." "I think you could pull it off. Hell, I could pull it off, dontcha think?" He chuckled in that goofy way of his. You shake your head with a giggle, casting him a quick incredulous look before turning back to the books. You didn't answer.

"Weeelllll, would you pick me?" He asked casually, giving your shoulder a teasing poke. His heart thumped in his ears as he watched you closely. 

"What, are you asking?" You tease him right back, focusing on rummaging through the discount book bin at the end of the aisle, but there's a hint of uncertainty behind it. Like you sensed the sudden shift in the conversations direction too.

"Depends on your answer." He replies with a frozen smile, gauging your reaction. 

Moments had passed as you continued sifting through the books, before… 

"Sure."

Then that was that.

He couldn't even remember if you had found the book you were looking for or not.

Interactions between the two of you changed when your relationship came to be. He was a lot more casual in touching you, wrapping an arm around you, holding your hand, your arm, and poking and tickling you abruptly. You were practically attached at the hip a good majority of the time. But he did make sure to give you all the space you wanted at the same time.

Now, Stu was sitting outside your house, shutting off his car. It was nighttime; Your street was dark except for the orange streetlamps that glowed a few feet away. It had been a while since he'd seen you, and he was eager to suprise you with a visit. Even if it was like, what, 10 o'clock at night.

He knew you were a night owl. You'd be up.

Stu made sure to be as silent as he could shutting the door to his car, hurrying up to your front door. He didn't have a key, but he picked it relatively easily, and quietly slipped inside. A trick Billy had taught him. It always suprised you, how he'd suddenly appear in your house after you swear you locked your doora and windows. And always, he blamed it on you just being forgetful. The scare was sort of fun, too. At least for him.

Because then he would have you to himself for the rest of the night.

Something was wrong tonight though. He could feel it as he slowly walked through your dark halls, searching for you. It churned in his gut like a warning.

If it was a usual day, you'd contact him in some way at least once. You hadn't so much as picked up the phone in the last 4. Not even a little voicemail. It was unusual, and had worry gnawing at the edges of his mind. That was mainly why he was breaking and entering visiting you tonight.

A part of him thought that you may have dug up on his past.

And that scared him more than anything.

The thought of you discovering what he'd done, so long ago… It didn't sit right with him. He was past all of that (for the most part). The police labeled the killings at his house as a cold case; Stu and Billy were made survivors of a "freak accident". He didn't really talk to Billy as much as he used to. After they had killed Sidney and everyone else at that party, communications between them were sparse at best, and have since faded to nothing over the years. It was all in the past now. Sure, it left him a little more psychotic than he was before, but weren't we all? Even if just a little bit?

There was no reason you would need to know anything about that.

Because then you would leave him.

And he didn't know how well he could handle that.

He slipped through your living room, and found the hallway that led to your room, feeling pleased when he saw the dim yellow light coming from below the door. Thank goodness you were awake.

But then why weren't you calling him like you normally did?

When he made it to your door, he turned the handle very slowly, pulling upward on it a little to prevent your door from squeaking as he carefully cracked it open. He peered inside; your room was just how it normally looked, a little messy but in a tidy sort of way. And you were lying face down on your bed, not making a sound.

Panic gripped him.

"Y/n?" He asked, his voice flat with a slight tremor.

The relief he felt when you jumped and swung your head back to face him almpst knocked him off his feet.

"Stu… Fuck." You said with a sigh, your head flopping back down onto the bed. "You have got to stop sneaking up on me like that." He crosses the room and flops down on the bed beside you, propping his head up with his hand. "I've missed you." He says with a smarmy smile, eyes tracing what parts of your face he could see. You say nothing still, your face hidden as it rests on your folded arms in front of you, except your eyes, which looked blankly in front of you. His eyebrows knit together.

Were you mad at him? He thought back to the weeks before you stopped talking to him, but couldn't think of any reason you would be. 

"Babe?" He mumbles, scooting closer to you, reaching over to run his fingers through your hair, close enough that he could feel your body warmth radiating off of you.. He was really starting to worry; You just ignoring him like this was off putting. And just plainly not like you at all.

Not really knowing what else to do, he turned to humor. 

Without so much of a warning, he made a quick move to suddenly lick the outer shell of your ear, something he knew made you shove him away playfully in and burst into a fit of laughter as you tried to prevent the assaults that would follow.

Apparently, you weren't in the mood.

You jerked up and gave him a look of- disgust. "Stop it!" You snapped at him, promptly scooting yourself a few inches away from him and hiding your face in your arms.

Okay, that was new.

Stu was really… Not sure what to do in this situation. It would really help if he just knew why you were acting like this so suddenly. Was it that time of the month? …No, you'd already gone through that this month… And even then you didn't act like this. He didn't know of anything major that had happened in your life. He would know; He likes to keep tabs on you. 

He was at a loss.

… Time to try a new approach.

Quietly, he rose, a little hesitant. This kind of stuff didn't happen very often, and he didn't really know how to reach out to you where you would hear him. Feelings, deep ones like you were experiencing, made him kind of uncomfortable. But this was something he had to do. As your boyfriend, and as your best friend.

He walked around your bed until he was standing in front of you, and he kneels down in front of you. "…Hey." He murmurs quietly to you. "Baby, what's wrong?" You withdrawl from your arms slightly to look at him, looking so emotionally tired his heart aches. "I'm here for you; let me help you. And I'm sorry if I did something to upset you, but stop pushing me away. I can make it right. I just want my girl back." He puts both of his hands on the either side of your face, stroking the soft skin of your cheeks with his thumbs and, for once, looking dead serious in concern and empathy.

The sigh you heave is so ragged that he feels tired just by hearing it. "I'm sorry. I'm such a mess," You shake your head, your eyes going glassy. "You didn't do anything. And I didn't mean to push you away, I just…" Deep breath. "I just feel like a lot has been going on, in my head, and I feel like I need some time to get my shit together." At least you weren't mad at him. That was the biggest relief. "And you didn't think I'd help you out if you asked me for help?" He continues the soothing motions of his thumb, wiping away a small tear that escapes your eye. "I…I don't know, I just thought…" You trail off with a sigh, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch. 

Ah, he got it. He was the funny guy. Right.

He was determined to show you he could provide you with the emotional support you needed, too.

Suddenly, he stood, walking purposefully to your closet.

You perk up onto your elbows, watching him. "Um… What are you doing?" You ask flatly. "I'm," He grunts as he pulled out a few random pillows from where you stashed them. "Going to make you feel better." 

And after the next 15 minutes, without you even leaving the bed, Stu had made your bed into a half-built pillow fort.

Really, he really just built a foot tall wall around the edges of the bed, creating something of a barrier between the two of you and the world outside of it. He placed the last one while he was on the bed so that he was trapped inside along with you while you watched him with a bemused expression. Satisfied, he grinned at you and flopped down vertically, crossing his ankles, propped up by the pillows at the head of your bed.

"Alright, baby, c'mere, and tell me what's been going on with you."

And so, you crawled towards him and laid down beside him, and let the dam break.

You told him everything. Every stress, every bout of depression, anxiety, and everything else holding you back was laid out for him within the confines of your bed. The pillows seemed to be working, allowing you to disassociate with everything out there as much as you could. It was warm; comforting.  Sometimes you'd burst into tears and he'd hold you, comforting you as best as he could. Other times you'd simply appear to go numb while you talked, and he'd still hold you, even if it was just your hand.

For not being very good at this sort of stuff, he felt like he deserved a medl after this.

Thirty minutes later, you had finally got everything out, and were now lying with your head on his chest, his arms around you, one hand rubbing up and down your back slowly. He felt good, and he hoped you did too. Hopefully it took a load off of your heavy heart.

"Better?" He mumbled against your hair, placing a quick kiss on your head. He feels you nod, and he smiles to himself: Hell yeah. Boyfriend of the fucking month. 

"Thank you, Stu," You say, your voice a little hoarse. He loved the sound of it. "'S What I'm here for, babe." Another kiss on your head. "Now get some sleep; I'll be here."

You nod again and get comfy, shifting to wrap your arms around him too, still on top of him. He does the same, holding you just a bit closer. Before you even close your eyes, you angle your head up to give him a quick, soft kiss on the lips, one he returns with gentle eagerness. He still knows you wouldn't want to go further than that tonight, so he lets you pull away and rest your head back against his chest.

Minutes pass. Stu is still awake when you finally drift off.

He wonders again, for the thousandth time, how he got so lucky. That you, could love someone like him. You, in all of your lovely imperfections. Although, you didn't know the full extent of his history, and he was adamant on keeping it that way, it was still clear that it was unlikely you would. Yet, here you are, in his arms. A perfect mess, who thinks she has to be the only one to carry her troubles. But he would help, now that he knew. Anything for you.

Because there were, after all, worse burdens to carry.

Chapter Text

Even through the old truck's windsheild, the sweltering Texas heat still made it through into the cab; it smelled disgustingly of sweat and blood. Thomas was just thankful Hoyt had let him throw the crates of meat in the bed with a few ponds of ice bags. They would have made the truck smell rancid. Especially with this kind of heat.

It was one of those rare days that you and Thomas rode with Hoyt to restock and help out at the gas station that they had taken to using to lure in more victims. Monty had lent him his ancient pickup truck to take the ride up there, so there was more room for the three of you since you could just toss the crates in the back. He rode beside his uncle, while you sat in the backseat.

Mama was bed-ridden with some sort of sickness, so it was up to you and him to take over most of her chores, not that any of you minded much. No one knew what she had; she herself blamed it on old age, but Thomas felt something else was off. She said she'd been having frequent migraines and fatigue and aches in her joints, which may have been a result of aging, yeah, but not the fact that she could barely keep down anything she ate. Or that the family had to force her to eat most nights, otherwise she would just not, claiming she wasn't hungry. Hoyt didn't seem too worried over it (he often said to Thomas that it would pass), but he had a nagging feeling that something just wasn't right. Even worse, she refused to have a doctor come by to check her out. For obvious reasons. And the nearest hospital was a whole county over since the one in town shut down, so driving wasn't an option.

Thankfully, you had this gut feeling too. You've been busy pouring over an old book on herbal remedies and another more scientific one on different major illnesses and their causes and cures. Furthermore, you were planning to look for any medicine that would be helpful at the gas station.

God, he loved you.

He caught a glimpse of you through the side mirror close to him. You had unrolled your window and had your head leaning toward it, your eyes shut, the wind that had generated feom their speed whipping the flyaways of your hair all around you. Trying to get some form of escape from the heat. He admired the sweet flush on your cheeks, and the small smile that drew up the corners of your mouth.

You had arrived here about 2 years ago, all by yourself, lost and in need of directions and gas for your car. Hoyt got to chatting with you, said his usual spiel of offering you a ride to his house to rest for a spell, you know the drill. But there was a different intention that brought him to bring you in as if you were actually a normal visitor. He'd said something about companionship, and then suddenly you started living there with the Hewitt family. Against your will.

And you grew into your new role perfectly.

Apparently, your life had been so dull that you didn't try to escape, which made everything a lot easier for everybody. Thomas was still confused on why Hoyt brought you here, but he liked steeling glances at you from a healthy distance. You were very nice to look at.

The only problem was that you never adjusted to eating the way they did; other than that, you fit in seamlessly. The food problem was an issue, though. You couldn't live off of the vegetables Luda Mae would give you. Which was when you approached him and asked him for his help, the first time you ever directly spoke to him. You wanted to try and hunt what sparse game was around the property. And he agreed. And this is also, when he fell.

Not long after, you two became nearly inseperable, save for the times he spent in the basement. He even found the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend (having Luda Mae help him write it doen on paper), his heart close to bursting when you accepted. You became his everything ever since.

He didn't know how he got to be so lucky.

The truck lurched under all of you as it pulled into the gas station, the engine groaning as Hoyt parked it and turned it off. Thomas noticed that there was already someone there, waiting outside the closed building, flagging them down with a wave and a smile. A man with short brown hair and the starting scruff of a beard, smiling at them as they pulled up.

He didn't need the sidelong glance that Hoyt gave him to know that there was a change of plans.

"Y'all start getting the meat unloaded." Hoyt muttered to the both of you as he got out of the car, putting on a friendly smile and greeting the man with a wave.

Thomas hopped out just as you were opening your door and, ever the gentleman, he held out his hand to help you out. You smiled, and took his hand, sliding out of the backseat with a small thump. He grunted quietly and ran his thumb over your fingers once before letting go and making his way to the bed of the truck with you close behind.

Just like when you both were loading up the truck, you both used a system that worked well for both of you. He opened upthe bed and helped you up, while you passed him the rusty metal dolly cart that he would use to wheel the meat in. The crates were heavy, so you began pushing the crates to the edge of the truck, where Thomas would pick them up with ease, and stack them upon the foot of the dolly. When the stack got too high, you'd wait as he wheeled them into the store, stack them beside the freezer to be put away when you were done, and then return to you, and the cycle would start again. It was simple, and it worked.

Meanwhile, Hoyt was chatting up the man. Thomas would hear snippets of their conversation as he passed, but he didn't care enough to really pay attention. He did still learn that the man was from all the way up in Monatana, where he lived alone off the grid, but he was taking a little trip through the states for a bit of soul searching and sight seeing. Thomas didn't know why he would want to come here; nothing to see here but miles and miles of dirt with a few dehydrated trees and a guarantee of sweat.

Once the last crate was brought in and he helped you heave the dolly back into the truck, he helped you down, this time keeping a hold of your hand after your feet reached the earth. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with your arm, and looked up to him with a smile. "Sure hope those freezers are runnin' good today," You comment. He smiled under his mask; he knew one of the only reasons you liked to help him stock the freezers was because it gave you a chance to cool off. You had admitted before that the sight of the meat, knowing what it was, made you a little queasy, but the cold of the freezer made a little bearable. It didn't matter to him, though - time spent with you was time well spent.

He led you up toward the stations doors, not missing the way the strange mans eyes catch on you both as yu walk by; specifically on you.

It didn't sit right with him.

He tried to pretend that he didn't feel the twisting feeling that was writhed within him as he started cracking open the crates. That man was just looking. Yes, that's all. You were very pretty after all, he couldn't blame the guy. But it still didn't make the feeling go away.

You both started taking the packages (you pointedly averting your eyes from the packs as much as you could), and loading them onto the wire racks of the freezer to be cooked later. The freezer was blissfully and unusually cold, immediately wiping the sweat away from your skins. So cold that he could feel his fingers begin to go numb as he continued. He didn't mind the pain much, but you obviously did; every few seconds, you would draw your hands close to your body and rub them together or blow into them before you keep going. Your cheeks were also starting to flush again, this time from the cold.

This went on for about minute before Thomas abruptly grabbed your wrist while you were reaching into the crate, stopping you. Your eyes flickered up to him, confused, and a little alarmed. "Tommy…?" You asked, searching his face. His other hand reached up to trace over your cheek, even though his hands were cold too, he could still feel the frigid feel of your skin. He gestured toward the door, for you to leave and let him finish up. You sigh.

"Thomas, I'm okay," you give him other sweet smile. "Besides, who knows when I'll have something to cool me down like this." Now you were just being silly. You were obviously freezing. He gestured again to the door, a little more exaggerating than before, keeping your wrist in a gentle hold as he carefully gives you a little push toward it. He wouldn't have you dying just because you wanted to stay cold. 

"Okay, okay, I'm going; but I promise I'll be back to help you when I'm warmed up." He lets go and you rise on your tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek before walking out. His face felt warm as he watched you leave, the butterflies that only you could awaken fluttering inside his chest. And he got back to work.

10 minutes pass. Then 15. Then he finished.

You never came back in.

If Thomas didn't know any better, he'd have thought that something was wrong. But Hoyt was outside, and wouldn't he yell for him if something had happened to you? Or was he too busy trying to talk their new victim into going to their house that he never even noticed that you had walked out? 

He was incredibly anxious as he quickly stacked the crates in the storage room to be used later, damn near running as he walked briskly out of the station. His eyes quickly scanned the are, looking for you; he sighed with relief when he saw you. You looked fine. You were smiling, and laughing, and talking to - His hidden smile dropped when he saw you were talking to that stranger.

Worse still, you were laughing with him.

Why were you talking to him? And where was Hoyt?

Thomas walked over toward you slowly, watching you talk with the stranger. He didn't like the way he was looking at you. Something about the mans bright blue eyes looking at you made anger flare in his stomach. Especially when he had the audacity to do a onceover on you, his smile pleased as he listened to you talking. It didn't help that you kept smiling at him, laughing quietly at whatever he said to you.

"- Lived in Texas for a while, so I'm pretty used to it." He heard you say as he got closer behind you. "What's Montana like?" "It's nice, for the most part. Gets pretty chilly in the winter, 'specialy near the mountains. Lots o' wildlife too. Real nice.." The man drawled, smiling at you and leaning against his admittedly nice looking truck he came in. "I think you'd like it there." No she wouldn't. "Maybe, but I can't really see myself leaving Texas." Thank you. "Can't imagine why you would want to come down here when you live in a place like that." He laughs quietly and looks down at the dirt not yet noticing Thomas as he stops behind you. Neither do you. "Ah, well, just wanted to see what else this world had to offer, an' I believe -" It was obvious that he was gonna throw a cheesy pickup line at you when he looked up; but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Thomas looming over you, his eyes widening.

You notice how the mans attention seemed to be shifted to something above you, you turn, your face brightening when you see Thomas. "Hey! Done already? Sorry, I got a little caught up out here. Oh, Klaus-" The man looks back at you. "This is my boyfriend, Thomas. Thomas, this is Klaus- He comes all the way from Montana. Quite a drive."

No one says anything as the two men eye each other.

'Klaus' looks at Thomas, eyeing his height and looking just a little intimidated by his sheer size. He took in the mask, the hair, his clothes, before looking back into his intense eyes, looking mainly disinterested. Thomas was sizing him up too; the stranger was shorter than him, only a little taller than you, with a rougish handsome face. He looked like an outdoorsman, what with his outfit down to his muscular,lean build. His skin was pale, which accentuated his dark hair and bright eyes the color of water on a cloudless day; if he looked close enough, he could see faint flecks of freckles along his cheeks and nose. 

Klaus was everything Thomas wished he could be for you.

"… Nice to meet you." Klaus finally says, his voice strained. Thomas gave a small grunt of acknowledgement. "He doesn't talk much." You say with a small, loving pat on his arm. Klaus looled thoroughly uncomfortable; good. "O-kay…" He said slowly before looking back to you with a grin. "So, uh, Y/n. You seem like a nice little lady, and your boyfriend is… Great. I was wondering if maybe I could tempt you to come visit my cabin in Montana for a small retreat? I could show you all the wildlife around the mountains, it's really beautiful up there… Oh, and of course, Thomas is more than welcome to come too." Klaus adds on quickly, an add-on.

If he wasn't too busy trying to keep his cool, his jaw would have dropped to the floor.

Was he flirting with you? While Thomas was literally standing right behind you? His shameless flirting was really getting on his nerves; and an inane part of him was actually worried that you'd want to agree. Because, this man (Klaus) had everything he didn't, and would obviously be the better match for you. You would never have to worry about him coming home later than usual, worrying over if he was alive. He would never come home with gashes and cuts and bruises from the victims who liked to fight back. He'd be able to share and enjoy a meal with you, the same meal (Thomas could eat actual food of course, but eating people was just a habit that he couldn't seem to break). Plus, he could show his face without people staring in horror or surprise, he could kiss your lips any time he wanted to.

Thomas could see it now. You, sick of Texas, sick of him, seeing how Klaus was the better option, riding away in Klaus' fancy truck to Montana. You'd have your own family with him in a fancy cabin in the middle of the woods, where you were happy. You'd sit on the porch swing out front, the cool breeze from the mountains ghosting across your perfect skin, Thomas a distant memory that you rarely thought about. Until his memory faded from your mind in all entirety.

The mere thought of this becoming a reality made his stomach sour.

"Oh, Montana might be cool." You muse, looking to Thomas with a smile to see what he thought. He looked at you blankly, still trying to supress his anger. "Yeah, I could show you all around the mountain; even the best spots for finding wild berries. You. He means to only take you, He says internally to you, willing you to understand through his eyes. Apparently, you don't, because you turn back to Klaus. "There's wild berries where you live?" Your tone borders on wonder. Klaus smirks, his ego inflated. "Lots, actually. Most of them get eaten by the critters, but I like to save a few for myself." He winks. He actually winks at you. This was going too far. And you just kept egging him on, whether you knew it or not.

"Woah, that's awesome!"

"It really is. I like to hunt elk up there, sometimes even bear."

"Bears?!"

Shut up. Stop talking to her.

"Bears. Mostly grizzlies, but I see the occasional black bear."

I said shut up.

"Sounds dangerous. But don't know if I could leave here, Klaus. As nice as Montana sounds, I like it right where I'm at." Thomas felt a surge of warmth at your refusal, his heart swelling with love for you.

"It would just be for a weekend." His mood shifts again as Klaus keeps trying to persuade you. She said no.

"Um…"

"C'mon, it would be fun. Get you away from this god awful weather, too."

Stop it. She already said no; leave her alone.

"I really think I'm needed right here." 

"Like I said. It's just a weekend. A mini vacation if you will."

Stop trying to take her from me.

"Besides," Klaus continues, cocking his head. "Maybe up with all that fresh air, you might find that your tastes will change-"

Without warning, Thomas's arm reeled back and extended foreward to punch that stupid, stupid man in the face with such force, he lauched back and hit the side of his truck before falling limp onto the asphalt. There was a dent in it's shiny exterior now.

Thomas breathed heavily, staring at the unconscious body.

You weren't going to Montana. Nobody was. Not even Klaus.

"Thomas!" You gasped in surprise. He turned around to face you; your eyes were wide with surprise, frozen, staring at Klaus. Those gorgeous eyes flickered to him. "… Y'know, I found him annoying too, but you don't see me body slamming people." … You found that guy annoying? That meant you weren't attracted to him, right? Well then. Knowing that now, he felt that his actions were a little… Silly. How could he have doubted you like that.? He felt a little ashamed of himself as he ducked his eyes  away from your gaze.

The sound of a slamming door pulled both of your attentions to it, Thomas instinctively moving closer to you protectively. But it was just Hoyt coming out of the outhouse, still in the process of pulling his belt tight as he stepped out. "Sorry, had to take a piss," He grumbled, fumbling with the latch before looking up."So, as I was- Holy shit!" He took the scene in; Klaus laying in a heap by his truck, your surprised expression, Thomas still breathing heavily with a dark look in his eyes. He could only imagine what it looked like to outside eyes. "What in Gods name…?" Hoyt began, before just shaking his head and waving the thought away. "You know what, forget it. Just help me load him up, Tommy boy." 

And so he did, hauling Klaus's body into the bed of the truck, thinking about how he would secretly relish butchering him. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing. Afterwards, Thomas decided to ride home in the back with you, holding your hand while your head leaned against his shoulder. He didn't know why he got so worked up in the first place. You loved him and he loved you, and that was that.

Long story short, you and Thomas weren't allowed to come help at the gas station anymore.

Chapter Text

"… Almost there?" 

You held in a sigh as you felt him poke you in the shoulder from the passenger seat. Something he's done about once every five minutes for the last hour that you'd been driving for. You loved him to pieces, but sometimes… Ugh.

"We still have a little ways to go, Brahms." You say gently, for the hundreth time, trying to keep your patience. Which proved very difficult when you had him in the passenger seat. But you didn't have the heart to kick him to the back, either. 

The both of you were going on a road trip.

Not far from the manor, but far enough that it made Brahms want to come.

It was originally going to be only you; You booked a few nights in a cozy little cottage near a quaint little village, where there was going to be a festival you've been dying to go to for years. It was all planned out- Until you informed Brahms of your plans. He just sort of stared at you, heavily breathing as he stared daggers into you, and stomping off to disappear ike he was so fond of doing. He thought you were leaving him for good. Weeks before your little vacation, he was on top of you, all day, every day, and all night, begging you quietly not to go. Brahms didn't stop until you finally relented and said that he could come too, if being away from you for four days was too unbearable for him.

It was. And so, you gained a tagalog.

You compiled his necessities and some clean clothes into another suitcase, still feeling excited for the trip. Yes, the Heelshire house was gorgeous and all, but ever since you got stuck with Brahms, you missed going out. Brahms made the whole experience there better, though.

The day came; you loaded the car, and buckled Brahms' doll in the backseat neatly, propping it up with blankets so it wouldn't topple over (he had insisted it come too)… Then came the part you didn't think would be an issue. But it was. 

Brahms was having cold feet. But he was still adamant that you would not leave without him.

You, quite literally, had to drag him from the house and push him into the car, while he either tried to fight back or grab onto something, or just going limp and becoming deadweight in your arms. It probably took you a good twenty five minutes just getting him out of the house and into the car.

A little over an hour has passed since then, and you could tell Brahms was restless. His leg bounced ceaselessly, and you caught him multiple times fidgeting with the air vents. He would randomly fiddle with the radio dial, or his head would suddenly snap to the side to look at a car that they passed, giving you a mini heart attack everytime he did. Now that you thought about it, he had never told you how often he got away from the house. This could be the first time in a decade.

You cast a quick glance his way. He appeared to be looking out the window, his expression hidden by the cracked porcelain mask he wore. His fingers were bunching and releasing the edge of his cardigan, his leg twitching. It was obvious that he was a nervous wreck.

"Hey," You said softly, and you see his face jerk to you in your peripheral. "The GPS says we'll be ther in thirty minutes. Okay? Almost there." You offer you hand to him out of sympathy, and he takes it without hesitation, his hand swallowing yours. He holds it like a lifeline. You smiled, left to wonder if he actually felt any better.

Brahms was oddly quiet as you drove, something you weren't sure whether you were thankful for or not. He still kept a vice like hold on your hand, which was a good sign, at least; hopefully, he felt a little better. You wonder if it had been the right decision in bringing him. Maybe you shouldn't have come.

No. You did. You did deserve this! You've worked hard managing that mammoth of a house, and it's garden, and Brahms himself (though the last, you didn't really see it as a chore). You deserved some time to do something you wanted to do, and you wouldn't let yourself talk you out of it. And, in truth, you were happy Brahms was coming too. It would be good for him to get out and do something new for a change.  And it would be a good time to share some quality time, not that you were lacking it in the first place; but being cozied up next to Brahms in a homey cottage sound nice. But, you would not let him feel like you made the wrong decision.

A little while later, you turned onto a dirt driveway, that led straight into the woods. The road was empty but framed with gorgeous trees, that offered shade, but still let in some light, creating little columns of sunlight. It was beautiful, and the sight made you breathe a little easier. This was gonna be a good time.

Brahms was silent beside you, but his face was frozen foreword, like he was taking in the view too.

You were driving up the road for another good five minutes, and then you saw it; The cottage. And it was the most darling thing you'd ever seen. Framed with large oak trees, crowding the little house like it was a crowned jewel. It was built with a patchwork of white and light, sandy stones bigger than your tires, with a little white door and a slanted roof, a silver chimney poking up from the top. In front of it was a garden of flowers, mostly white, and a concrete angel sat by the enterance door. You felt excitement swell in your chest at the sight as you pull up in the dirt paved driveway. You parked the car, and turned to Brahms.

"What do you think, Brahms?" You ask him, slightly breathless with the rush of excitement you felt. He stares at you blankly, just… Staring at you without saying a word. Sigh. You wish he would tell you what was on his mind. Whatever. You hoped he was a little happy, in any case.

You step out of your nice, warm car and immediately shiver from the chill of the brisk autumn air. God, you wished you brought a sweater or something. You had meant to take your favorite, but you got too wrapped up trying to get Brahms out the door. It was currently drped over the chair by the kitchen table, where you left it.

Rubbing the goosebumps that rose on your arms, you took another look at the house. It looked like something out of a fairy tale- and you'd be living in it. Okay, only for a few days but still.

Before you could reach in your pocket for the key to the house, you felt something wrap around you, something warm and soft. Like cotton. You saw Brahms' hands as they wrapped one of his cardigans you had packed him, the pale green one with tortishell buttons, tugging the sleeves up your arms. You smiled and helped, shrugging them up onto your shoulders; the torso was long and the sleeves hung past your wrists, so you bunched them in your hands. "Thank you, Brahms," You say softly, turning to look at him. It was so rare that he does something to care for you rather than the other way around, and you savored every moment he did. 

Brahms responded by puling the cardigan straight on you meticulously. When he was satisfied, he gently rubbed your upper arms a few times while looking at you warmly, but still strangely blank, before grabbing your face and pulling you closer, pressing the cold lips of his mask to your forehead. You smile wistfully, wishing it was his own.

There have been instances where he has taken off his mask in front of you, but mostly only during the dim hours of nighttime, when you could barely see anything. He's kissed you without it, too, and you wished it would happen more often. You wished he would let you kiss his lips again, instead of the cold porcelain against your own. Maybe one day.

"Thank you." You say again, smiling up at him. "I'm gonna go unlock the house, 'kay? Then we can settle in." Brahms says nothing but lets go of you and meanders off toward the little garden.

You unlock the house, holding your breath as it swings open, and letting it out when you see the interior. It was just as cozy as you thought it'd be; the furniture of what you could see and the decor were all in shades of cream and white and dark brown, various fake plants placed artfully around the dark wooden walls. You were surprised that Brahms didn't come in to see the house.

What didn't surprise you, however, was the fact that it was up to you to bring in all the bags. You mostly just piled what you could in your hands and around your arms and shoulders, all with the exception of Brahms' doll; he got his own special treatment, being carried in by himself, and being sat in one of the cushiony chairs in the bedroom. While lugging in the bags and such, you caught sight of Brahms every now and then, at the garden peering at the flowers, wandering around, looking around like he was lost, or even disappearing for a few minutes at a time. You wondered again, what was going on through his head.

You put everything in their respective rooms, sighing gratefully when you let the final bag drop from your shoulder and fall to the floor with a thud. Finally. Time to actually enjoy this majestic cottage you'd be staying in.

But where was Brahms?

You walked out the door, looking for him in the front yard, feeling your heart spike in panic when you couldn't see him. Your hands went clammy and you could physically feel your face pale. Brahms was no where to be seen. Oh no, please no…

He wasn't by the car. Or on the sidesof the house. You even got so desperate as to look up the trees, even though you could never imagine him climbing a tree. He couldn't actually have gotten lost, right? I mean, you barely walked into the house for two minutes… Still, his tall figure was not anywhere.

"Brahms?" You called hoarsely, wandering a little into the woods on the left side of the house.

You almost literally jump out of your skin when you feel the heavy feeling of a hand on your shoulder, nearly giving yourself whiplash when you turn around to face him. Brahms stands behind you, looking straight down at you. You almost have a heart attack just by seeing him standing there. "Brahms! You can't just wander away like that, you made me worried," You scold him, but in a gentle way that reminded you of the same way a mother would scold her child who wandered too far and worried her.

He ducks his eyes and looks back up at you, and you could read the apology in his eyes. Then he suddenly holds out his hand to you, curled into a fist around… A bunch of white daisies, their long stems still peppered with dirt. It looked like he was presenting them to you. Your heart melts.

"…Are these for me?" You ask, forgetting all about how he had abruptly left and practically appeared out of thin air. He nods carefully, still holding them out for you. You take them, looking at the small flowers. Their petals were as white as the clouds, the golden center a bright yellow. There had to be at least fifty of them. They would look gret in one of the empty vases you had seen in the kitchen, you realize. "Brahms, they're beautiful." You look at him with a tender smile. "Thank you. Again." He nods and you see his eyes soften behind the mask. He looks back at the cottage.

Brahms spends a good few minutes looking at the cottage, while you just stand there in awkward silence beside him, admiring your flowers. You jumped when his head turned suddenly to you. "… I like it." He mutters simply, not saying another word as he takes your hand and starts to lead you up to the house. Well, guess it was time to go inside.

You smiled to yourself as you stared at his back, holding the daisies in your hand, thinking that maybe bringing him with you was the right thing to do.

And you were glad you did.

Chapter Text

• Is honestly surprised you remembered 

• So much that it will scare the shit out of him if you decided to surprise him when he got home that day

• He's really bashful and awkward about any festivities you do for him, especially if you give him gifts

• Like, he doesn't hate that you did, but the poor guy just wasn't used to his birthday getting celebrated this way

• Loves every gift you give him, no matter what it is. Even if it is the most random thing in the world (like something from the nearly deserted gas station just outside the woods, or even something you found in said woods), he would cherish it lile it were the greatest treasure (If you get him any kind of jewelry like a necklace or bracelet, he'd wear it always)

• The gifts that really get him though are the ones you make yourself. Those will be showcased somewhere in the house where it was clearly visible, so he could look at it all the time

• He'd really be happy with anything you cook/bake even if it doesn't turn out how you wanted it too (like how my stuff always does)

• Would not say no to some birthday kisses <3

• Even if you didn't do any of these things for him, he wouldn't mind one bit

• Really, the only thing he wants for his birthday is to feel loved, and quiet time to cuddle with you

The moonlight reflected off the lake, giving it an soft, eerie blue glow in the nighttime. Crickets chirped quietly from somewhere within the woods, mingling with the quiet sounds of the water lapping onto the shore and rolling in miniscule waves. Stars shimmered overhead, peeking in through the trees, but on full display over the lake, visible from where the two of you sat on the shoreline. 

Alone with you; now that was a birthday worth taking the time to spend. 

Jason had origionally thought the day would pass unnoticed, uncelebrated, like it did every single year since his childhood. Just another day of doing the exact same thing he does everyday. Every once in a while he'd try and go out of his way to do something special for himself on his birthday, but most of the time he just let the day pass without a trace. Just another day.

And then you came along, and made it a day he actually wanted to celebrate.

Because that meant more time spent with you, which was always time well spent in his book.

Just like now.

You were both sitting up on one of the small shores of Crystal Lake, looking up at the stars. Sure, a little cliche, but it suited the both of you just fine. He was leaning against the trunk of a tree, with you sitting between his legs and laying against him, your body tilted to the side so that the side of your head rested on his chest. His arms were around you, and yours around him. It was a little chilly, so he had taken off his jacket to drape over you; he didn't mind the cold anyway. He had to signal this to you multiple times until you would take it without shoving it back to him.

It was nice. As quiet as the woods could be. Your breathing was coming slower, like you were on the verge of sleep, but he made no move to wake you. He was tired too, but he didn't want to fall asleep. Not yet. The scene felt too beautiful to pass over.

Too perfect not to take the time to commit it to memory.

The scenery was nice, yes, but you… Holding you like this was the only thing he wanted to do and feel for the rest of his life. The one person who fit completely with him like the other half to his broken soul. Who showed him kindness when others did not, and who saw a person rather than a monster when they looked at him. Who was just so utterly amazing and kind that he caught himself trying to wake himself from what felt like a dream.

He wanted to spend an eternity loving you.

And now was a great time to start.

Chapter Text

Thomas Hewitt

• Even though he loves spending time with you, it'd take a lot of convincing just to take an afternoon and night just for the two of you. No interruptions 
• But after LOTS of begging, he finally agrees
• He'd feel a little guilty being away from his family for a whole afternoon when he could be doing things to help out, but you pull him out of his slump
• I feel like he'd wear a very old shirt (like I'm talking raggedy old) and plaid sweatpants. Idk it just feels right
• You two would probably make a cozy little settup on his bed upstairs, just piles of blankets and pillows to make it extra comfy
• Or you could just lay on Thomas
• I guarantee he won't stop you
• Would love for you to teach him some card/board games 
• If you like to read/write, he'd love for you to read whatever struck your fancy to him
• He'd go to sleep fairly quickly
• Is the ultimate cuddler. You cannot change my mind on that one

Bubba Sawyer

• Ohh, he has just been waiting for this opportunity 
• Lowkey excited
• Makes all the preparations; snacks, games, a PILLOW FORT (okay it looks like it's going to collapse in on itself, and probably will when your inside of it, but give the boy some credit)
• Repeatedly gets it through to his brothers to leave the two of you alone tonight
• Wears an old pajama set
• Probably has some goofy looking slippers too
• His favorite board game is Trouble, and you can bet your buttons he WILL mess with the dice popper multiple times
• Being the sweetheart he is, he always lets you win
• He's willing to stay up as long as you want to
• Will die if he doesn't get to cuddle you to sleep

Pennywise

• Pennywise? A sleepover? 
• He doesn't even need to sleep essentially, but he knew humans needed sleep to survive, so why did you want to stay awake and "hang out" with him at night…?
• He thinks it is very peculiar, but agrees to it anyway
• Feels like he will never understand human customs
• Feeds before he gets there
• You honestly have barely any time to get ready, and suddenly you open a closet or cupboard and he's just THERE
• He just wears his clown costume 
• If your lucky, he'll wear a ridiculous looking nightcap to humor you 
• Movies all night
• Preferably a comedy (horror movies just make him hungry, even though he says the acting is dry and doesn't compare to the real thing)
• Feeding off of you isn't an option so he staves off of some popcorn (ah, but othing compares to fear, unfortunately…)
• He doesn't sleep. So he stays up as long as you are able
• You fall asleep in the middle of one of the movies, and he dutifully stays beside you through the night 
• He's gone by morning, but there's a little bowl of candy next to the couch, with a smiley face on a note next to it; it appears he liked it

Art The Clown

• First of all, you have a mandatory rule that he must shower before he steps foot in your house
• Always; not just for the sleepover
• You will not up with his messes on your precious floors
• And he begrudgingly agrees, though sometimes he tests your limits
• Claps his hands and bounces on his toes when you invite him for a sleepover
• You make his pinky promise not to do anything funny while at your house
• And you make the mistake of trusting him
• Everything seemed fine when he arrived, in his normal costume, still, but clean
• Will probably try and convince you to pirate some illegal horror movie like Cannibal Holocaust or Traces Of Death or A Serbian Film  (I'm not promoting these movies at all, don't come for me, they are illegal for a good reason, and I recommend no one try and watch them. I only looked them up, and never watched them. But Art would totally want to, the little psychotic sadomasochist.)
• … He brought snacks
• Spoiler alert: There's a dead cat inside the chip bag
• He gives you an innocent and appalled look as you shoo him angrily out of the house
• But he stands outside your window looking ever inch like a sad, wet dog that you give him one last chance
• Surprisingly behaves the rest of the night
• You end up playing uno, which is even more entertaining with his facial expressions (this is actually really funny to think about for some reason)
• He sidles up close as you start to drift off

Jason Voorhees

• I mean, every night is a sleepover with him
• You literally live together in his cabin 
• But he'll do it for you
• He waits for you at the camp while you make your way up to the nearest store with a portion of money he's collected off his victims
• While your gone, he rumages through all the clothes hs compiles over the years and finds a relatively new shirt that has that slick feel of a sports shirt, and some ratty pajama pants in some kind of plaid
• You come back with an armful of snacks, games, and, suprise, a TV and some old movies
• He'd probably appreciate some kind of calmer movie
• Cuddlleeesss
• Is able to stay up as long as you want
• You bet you are underneath a blanket snuggling up to him

Michael Myers (Original)

• He comes to your house unannounced most of the time
• And one time, you were ready and equipped with everything you needed for a sleepover
• He just kind of went with it
• Either wears the jumper, or nothing but his underwear; take your pick
• That being said, he doesn't eat anything, and you just kind of have to pull him through everything 
• The only thing he will engage in even the tiniest bit is a movie
• He doesn't even care what you watch
• If he feels nice, he'll play a game with you
• His favorite is Clue, and hes pretty good at it, too
• He doesn't get tired
• Just lays there stoically if you fall asleep holding onto him

Michael Myers (RZ!)

• Contrary to his original counterpart, he shows as much enthusiasm as Michael Myers can when you mention a sleepover 
• Really, he sleeps in your house anyway, but this was special
• Strikes me as just a sweatpants and no shirt kind of guy
• Really doesn't care what you do
• Actually somewhat likes sleepovers, because it reminds him of a time in his life when things were easier 
• He'd rather do something with his hands than watch a movie
• If you have the materials, he'd like to make a paper mache mask for you and teach you how to make one
• If not, he likes Jenga
• And he wouldn't mind if you wanted to bake something! I think he'd enjoy that
• Goes to sleep only when you start showing signs that you're tired
• Holds you while you drift off, while he uses you as an anchor against the pull the past has at his mind

Freddy Krueger 

• He's down for it. So fucking down.
• It almost scares you how down he is
• Doesn't really wear any nightclothes for the occasion, but fully expects you to
• Will make dirty comments toward you at one point or another regarding said nightclothes
• Would love watching scary movies with you and likes to make fun of you if you jump
• Things get freaky if there's a sex scene; that's all up to your interpretation, folks
• Oh, you fell asleep? Not a problem for him
• Continues the party in your dreams
• And things get WEIRD real fast

Brahms Heelshire

• It was actually Brahms who wanted the sleepover
• And who were you to say no?
• He wears a fluffy robe that he takes off before bed, a pinstripe pajama set, and some ratty slippers
• Oh, can't forget the eye mask
• Wants to do everythig and everything; I'm talking movies, baking, snacking, board games, and whatever else crosses his mind
• But Gods help you if you don't let him win
• He will pout for the rest of the night
• But keep him happy and it'll be all smooth sailing
• Doing all of this proves very difficult when he gets sleepy at 12AM
• You MUST read the special boy a story and give him a kiss before bed
• And then he would hold you hostage in his arms until you both fell asleep

Billy Loomis

• Sleepover? Oh, haha, you meant Horror Movie Marathon With My S/O
• Fr, y'all just watch horror movies
• T shirt and shorts/ pajama pants
• And he will whisper facts about the movie while you're all cuddled up on the couch
• Granted, he does provide you with all of your favorite snacks
• Occasionally you will be able to pull him away for some other kind of quality time that you would rather do, and he enjoys it just the same
• Can stay up relatively late, but starts getting a little drowsy around 3:30 AM
• Cuddles all night *+
• Will whisper sweet nothings to you until one of you falls asleep

Stu Macher

• Arguably the most fun slasher to have a sleepover with 
• Sleepovers happen pretty often with him
• Wears a tank top with sweatpants and calls it good (robe occasionally?)
• Bought the both of you a cheesy pajama set (that you never wear)
• He's only got you to wear them with you once
• Baking with you is one of his favorite things to do at sleepovers with you
• The kitchen is an absolute MESS by the time you're through with how much the two of you mess around while baking
• Not only the room, but yourselves too
• Also, Karaoke night?!
• Definitely 
• And let me tell you, even if you think you're bad, Stu purposely does silly voices to the point that its even worse
• (does have an actual decent singing voice if he really tried)
• Hyped up on the excitment, he could run til 5 AM 
• When you do fall asleep, he will make sure you have enough blanket before he comes in and cuddles you

Mark Hoffman

• Oh, Mark.
• You have to beg for this to even be an idea in his head
• Like, more than you would with Thomas 
• Between work and his "side gig", he's always extremely stressed, and just feels like he doesn't have the time to just kick back
• He says yes more to stop you begging rather than having an actual desire to go
• Although he can admit that it would be a nice destressor
• Cancels all of his nights plans, and silences his cell phone; tonight is just for you and him, after all
• Will die before admitting he's been wanting alone time like this with you for a while
• Shirt and sweatpants for him
• Movies and board games (his favorite is Monopoly)
• ( if you whip out clue, he will kill you)
• If you watch a movie, he will dote on you while still paying attention to the movie
• Running his fingers through your hair, soft kisses on your neck as he holds you with your back against his chest
• You both fall asleep on the couch together

Norman Bates

• Took literal months to have his Mother agree to him sleeping in the same room as you
• And when he asked you, he was a nervous wreck
• You said yes
• He is still a nervous wreck
• The sleepover is held in one of the larger rooms the motel has a long ways from where Mothers room is
• Makes sure everything is extra clean and perfect before you come
• He wears something modest to bed, idk, like just a decent looking shirt and comfy pants, and some slippers
• You spend most of the night baking with him
• Poor thing jumps everytime you touch him
• He decides that at 12 AM, you are both going to bed
• Really adamant about sleeping in seperate beds, but if you crawl into his after a little while, he will roll over to face you and hold you as you both drift off

ALL TOGETHER NOW!

• I don't know how you got these guys under one roof without them killing each other or planning a killing spree, but here we are, ya little miracle worker you!
• Not knowing where to have the party, you ask Mark Hoffman if you could borrow one of the abandoned warehouses he and John use for traps
• Stu and Pennywise supply most of the snacks 
• If anybody forgot a sleeping bag (because this is a fucking warehouse, not a B&B), fear not, Jason Voorhees brought extra
• You're delulu if you think none of them would bring their weapons, so BE CAREFUL and DON'T LET CONFLICTS HAPPEN
• Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, and RZ! Michael Myers are looking at each others masks
• Leave it to Norman Bates to inspect and note all the warehouses imperfections and say we should have just stayed at some rental house
• Billy Loomis tries to talk to all the slashers and take mental notes, especially the more popular classic ones
• Brahms Heelshire just kind of hovers over you wherever you choose to go
• Freddy Krueger convinces Michael Myers and Jason to a game of Monopoly (will deal you in if you wanna play too)
• Mark is that kid who just wants to go home; he just sits there watching Billy and Stu examine Bubba's, Thomas's and RZ! Michael's masks.
• Art The Clown just sits there like a weirdo; Sometimes finding dead rats in the dark corners of the warehouse and trying to scare the others with it
• Everyone eventually joins in on Monopoly 
• Stu provides commentary, Norman is the banker, and You are tasked on making sure nobody cheats
• … Everybody tries to cheat at least once
• The game ends abruptly when Art drops a pile of dismembered rats onto the board, the blood and gore ruining the board itself and the cards, and proceeds to laugh silently on the floor
• He gets kicked out; everybody's been through enough of his shit tonight
• Everyone there is a little fucked up but jeez, Art, WTF
• After a few hours, everyone is ready for sleep
• The sleeping bags are all placed in their own areas on the floor, all a little closer for more heat 
• Brahms falls asleep first, Thomas falls asleep last
• Everybody survives the night :)

Chapter Text

What they bring:

Thomas Hewitt- Orange juice that he got from the gas station near his house, and some jerky (Y'ALL DON'T EAT THE JERKY-)

Bubba Sawyer- Very crunched up bags of chips (also from the gas station)

Pennywise- Your favorite kind of pie! (…That looks suspiciously like the one you bought from the store… That also went missing a few days ago…)

Art The Clown- … Who told Art he could bring food?? Nah, don't, guys, he's gonna bring something dead to the picnic

Jason Voorhees- Whatever he can find off campers. Probably stuff like (actual) jerky, chips, candy, maybe some sodas and energy drinks. Brings a variety of that sort of stuff

Michael Myers (Original)- Nothing. Literally nothing.

Michael Myers (RZ)- One of those fruit palates you got him once but he never ate

Freddy Kruger- Brings, like, a singular apple or something small like that

Brahms Heelshire- PB&J Sandwiches that you made

 Billy Loomis- Some kind of odd named salad bowl (I had a 'pizza' salad once that was actually pretty good, ngl)

Stu Macher- Candy. Soda. Anything with sugar. (for some reason I think his favorite would be sour gummy worms?)

Mark Hoffman- A few coldcut subs

Norman Bates- Made a whole ass chicken and brought bread and some fixin's for chicken sandwhiches

The Picnic

• Everyone brings stuff, but Norman is really the only one okay sharing with everybody
• Everyone else just kinda deals out what they brought into the center of the picnic blanket begrudgingly 
• Brahms only eats the sandwiches he brought
• Pennywise is always trying to steal your food, like, bitch back UP
• All goes to shit when Art throws a slice of pie at (Original) Michael Myers
• (He's always starting something istg)
• Michael then proceeds to try and kill Art
• Everyone else just keeps eating
• Freddy thinks it is hilarious
• Stu makes a bet with Pennywise that Art will get away
• He does; Pennywise owes Stu a dollar, but we all know he ain't gonna fess up (he's a fucking alien, he's broke af)
• Everybody lives to tell the tale. This time.
• Michael has it out for Art, tho…

Chapter Text

It was a regular occurance, for you to be left alone for long periods of time in the cabin you shared with Jason. You never really minded; he always brought stuff home for you that he'd get from his victims. Books, drawing utensils, he even found a book of crossword puzzles last week. But even those got boring sometimes. And you knew that he would blow a fuse if he came home to find you missing. So, in times like this, it was up to you to find a way to entertain yourself.

Today, it was making lunch.

The radio you had bought was crackling with static on the counter of the kitchen, and you tried to adjust the antenna to catch the frequency of some radio station. Any kind would do right about now; it was too quiet. After a little bit of fiddling, you got a semi-clear connection to what sounded like a classic country station. Well, better than nothing.

You turn around and head toward the pantry, opening up the door and surveying the items on the shelves. You realized you would have to go shopping soon; the shelves were almost empty. But behind a box of instant rice, you see a loaf of bread, practically calling your name. And you swear if you turn your head to the other side, you should see… Yes! You grab the jar of peanut butter and the bread with a smile - Now, you were just hoping there was some jelly in the fridge, so you could make yourself a good ol' fashion PB&J.

Upon looking in the fridge, you find a half empty jar of strawberry jelly, and set it on the counter next to the peanut butter and the bag of bread. You hum a quiet tune as you make your way over to thr silverware drawer, only to stop and frown when you notice the butter knife slot waas completely empty. There wasn't even a stray on that found itself in with the forks or spoons. No matter; there was probably some in the dishwasher.

The dishwasher Jason had ordered for the house when you complained about handwashing dishes looked like something prehistoric compared to the sleek, shiny models you'd see on the show floor at the store. This hulking beast wasn't even built into the counter, despite having a slab of the counter on top; it rolled around on wheels so you could make sure the hose in the back could connect to the faucet to provide the water when it ran. Plus, when it was running, it was loud.

Right now it was pushed back next to the rest of the counter, the little green light in front indicated it was clean. Jason must have disconnected it and rolled it back into place this morning before you woke up. You open the bulky door (One good thing about this dishwasher? It was heavy duty. You could tumble boulders in it and not even make dents), and rolled out the bottom rack. The wheels squeak as it rolls foreward, and you start sifting through the plastic side pocket where the silverware was when it came to a stop.

Not a single butter knife was to be seen.

To make matters worse, despite you distinctly remembered hooking it up and running it, the dishes inside were still dirty. Frustrated, you slammed the dishwasher with a little more force than you had meant to. Damn you, dishwasher.

You wheel the cart-like dishwasher over to the sink, hook it to thr faucet and turn on the water, put the soap in the little soap cubby and latch the lid, and then close it and run it (again). Afterwards, you sigh, looking around the kitchen… Now what?

The butter knives had disappeared to god knows where; you've come to terms with that. So you weighed the alternatives. A fork was a obvious no. You could use a spoon, but it wasn't the same, and you always somehow got more peanut butter on the spoon than the actual bread. You also considered just using the handle of any of the utensils, but immediately cringed from the idea; that just felt plainly wrong.

There seemed to be nothing you could do. By now, you were even just considering having a sandwhich that consisted solely of bread. Hope was lost to you.

Until you saw Jason's machete placed so conveniently on a towel next to the kitchen sink.

It was a nice, sunny day outside, but Jason couldn't really bring himself to enjoy it as much as he usually did.

He wasn't upset, per se, just a little bothered.

Why, you ask? Becausehe was stuck with a  measly kitchen knife instead of his trusty machete.

It all started yesterday when he came home from slaughtering the fresh batch of campers, admittedly very bloody. You, as always, worried over him as soon as he walked in the door, and after you made sure none of the blood was his, you glanced down at his weapon; also covered in blood. "You should really clean that." You said as you brought him fresh clothes. And you were right. Not only was the blade itself a macabre mess, but the handle was crusted with years and years of gore. At first he said no, but you eventually talked him into it.

What a mistake that had been. Because this morning when he went to get it, the handle was still wet. And because there was a clearly written sign beside it that you had left the night before informing him that you had "sanitized" it, and he wouldn't be able to take it out today. The smell of bleach was strong when he got closer.

Now he was stuck with this puny kitchen knife. It wasn't even a long one; the butcher knife had been used last night on the deer he caught. The blade was short. It was too small for his large hand. And thus, it was completely and utterly inferior to his beloved weapon back home.

Good news, though. There were no new campers at the campsite today and wouldn't be any tonight, he guessed, so he didn't even need to use the por excuse of a knife. 

Also good news - He was heading back home to you. He was even early coming home today. Totally not in disdain for his new weapon.

He went through the woods silently, toward the direction the cabin was. As he walked, he wondered what you'd gotten up to today. Jason always felt guilty for leaving you cooped up in the cabin while he disappeared for hours on end, and he knew the little gifts he brought you didn't suffice as an apology. But he also hoped you'd understand that it was his way of prioritizing your safety. You always seemed to find something to do, though. From cleaning, to engaging with things he brought you, to… Napping…? Ugh, even listing them out sounds boring. 

It wasn't long before he caught sight of the cabin in the sea of trees, with some of the lamps you bought shining a warm soft glow in the windows. He couldn't see you in any of them.

Jason trudged foreward, tucking the knife into one of his belt loops. The old wooden floorboards whined in protest as he shambled up the steps and porch, but the door swung open silently on the recently oiled hinges. He wiped his muddy shoes off on the doormat outside the door before stepping in. In true Jason fashion, his enterance into the house was nothing short of completely silent, as he listened for any sound to where you could be. He heard the sound of the radio playing softly in the kitchen.

So, that's where he headed.

Silently, he made his way through the cabin into the kitchen, where he immediately saw you, your back turned to him. He couldn't tell what you were doing at first, but you sure were moving your arms a great deal. It was only when you turned slightly to the side did he see what you were doing - He takes a deep breath in shock.

There you were, looking at a plate on the counter, open jars of peanut butter and strawberry jelly beside it… using HIS MACHETE to put PEANUT BUTTER on yoUR BREAD. The horror registers in his very soul as he sees smears of jelly below the thick goop of the peanut butter. You moved the coated tip of HIS WEAPON over thr bread like an artist putting the final touches on their latest masterpiece.

Here he was with a steak knife that felt like a Barbie doll by size in his hand, while you were using his machete to MAKE A SANDWHICH.

Although, it wouldn't be the first time he's caught you using his machete for things other than murder.

Like the time you were trying to get loose nails out of the wall. His machete was used to pry them out. The soil outside was too littered with thick roots to dig a hole and plant the vegetable seeds you had got on sale. The machete did the job. Branches jammed in the chimney? Use the machete and try and scoop them out. Oh, you accidently swept something under the stove? Golly, would ya look at that, Jason's machete again!

But this. This was a new low.

He threw the knife down onto the table, the loud clatter of it skidding a few centimeters across its surface making you jump, and turn to face him. He stares at you. You stare at him… And you have the audacity to look innocent, the pointy tip smothered in peanut butter still hovering over the bread. "… What?" You ask when he doesn't come over and greet you like he normally did when he got home. He watched your eyes examine him for injuries,and warmth runs through him for you - No. He was supposed to be mad at you.

Jason points to the machete in your hands sharply. Your eyes snap to the weapon, and then back at him, a little guiltily. "There weren't any butter knives left! Did you move them?" You ask, setting the machete in the sink and closing the sandwich. He shakes his head. "Well than, where are they?" He shrugs, in a how should I know? way. 

Who cares about the butter knives, we're here about the abuses to his poor blade…

He gestures to the knife - that stupid, stupid knife that was meant for tiny hands - to show what he had suffered through today. "… Oh." You say; and you were holding back giggles? The nerve!

You sigh, calming down. "It's fine, Jason, I'll clean it." You reassure him and take a bite of the sandwich. That better be the best sandwich you've ever tasted, for having to use MY machete. That's used for murdering. People. Gods, it's gonna take weeks for the smell of PB&J to fade from it.

"You want a sandwich?" You ask him as you hold yours in your hand. You knew he didn't really need to eat, but he occasionally did eat with you.

He shakes his head. 

You shrug and take another bite and set it back down on the plate, and come closer to him, giving him a one armed hug. "I missed you today." You mutter as you kiss the side of his mask where his cheek was, your breath smelling sweet with the strawberry jelly. He grumbled a bit before looping his arms around you and resting his head atop of yours.

He loved you, very much, but don't make sandwiches with his murder weapon, damn it.