Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 The young blond's footsteps against the wood of the house he would eventually inherit seemed to break the suffocating silence of his home.  Golden sunlight shined in through a window to his right as he turned a corner and descended a staircase, his head down and his heart slamming against his chest.  Shaking hands clenched at the collar of his shirt, pulling at it as he watched his shoes travel the dusty hardwood of his family's ancient, silent house.

Travis always hated that house.  Just being within the vicinity of it almost at all times made his skin crawl.  Almost like the dark, wicked, murderous people that were his ancestors were attached to it.  And it was likely they were.

And he would be, too.  When the time came. 

Travis would never be able to leave that fucking town even after death, but he had accepted that fact long ago.  For he was scared to.  Scared to break the ending cycle of abuse, murder, and lies that was the Phelps family.

 But he couldn't complain.  For in other people's minds, he was seen as spoiled.  Loved, even, by his father.  But that was all part of the plan.  His father's plan.

 Speaking of which, the young blond's eyes scanned the vicinity of his house as he searched for the older Phelps.  It was likely he was still in the ministry, after all, Kenneth almost seemed to live in the catacombs ever since a certain blue-haired kid moved to town.  Planning, meeting with his co-workers, killing, watching, researching.  You know, normal activities for a small town priest.

The fact that the blond's father was a cult leader was nothing new to Travis.  He had known ever since a fateful fall in the ministry led him straight down into his father's temple; in the middle of a meeting, no less.  The flash of anger in Kenneth's face would forever be burned into Travis's memory, as well as the look of panic on a few other people around the room.  All wearing cloaks.  His father had never slapped him until that afternoon, and things seemed like they couldn't get any worse.

Well, until his mother vanished.

And a few years later; his childhood friend was strangled to death by her own father.  Who happened to be another one of Kenneth's experiments; a test to see how a human body would react to being the vessel to a paranormal being.

It goes without saying the project failed.  Considering the subject, Luke Holmes, hung himself in his bedroom not twenty minutes after slaughtering his family as well as a man named Gregory Montague.  It all started with some sort of complicated love affair, though Travis didn't dare to eavesdrop long enough to hear all the details.

At one point the fact that the same thing could happen to his own father worried Travis, but now it was the least of his problems.  The blond was expected to not only participate in his father's rituals, but to also keep up their family's reputation as a normal, extremely catholic church.

 Which was harder than it seemed, with all of his father's plans and a new abundance of strict rules to follow.  Rules like not leaving the house after seven, no inviting friends over, no parties of any sort, no dating, and absolutely no going to Addison Apartments for any reason.

And the last, most-important rule;  bully the shit out of Sal Fisher and his freakshow of friends.

It was essential to his father's plan to make that kid's life a living hell.  Though Travis never really knew why, he never questioned his father's motives.  

After all; questions meant answers.  And answers usually meant more nightmare fuel for the young teen.  And he didn't want that.  

But right now he did want an answer.

For a question that would go against all of his father's rules in one go.

The blond scanned the downstairs area before his gaze landed in the dining room, where the elder Phelps sat.  The disgusting smell of cigarettes lingered in the air as a trail of grey smoke danced around Kenneth's blond head in the dark room.  He faced away from Sal, shifting through some papers while bouncing his knee.  The Dogma mask sat beside him; the man seemed to never be too far away from the heavy piece of stone carved to resemble the head of a wolf.  A mocking resemblance of how the cult was born to begin with.

The young blond held a shocking resemblance to his father; one that he had come to hate after the many years of slowly uncovering his father's secrets.  Though Kenneth's skin was lighter than Travis's, the trademark bright blond hair of the Phelps family still resembled in both of them.  As well as the above-average height and the slender build.

Travis approached his father, anxiety growing deep in his stomach with each step he took.  But a pause in the elder Phelps' work signaled that he felt the younger blond's presence.

"Home already?"  Kenneth spoke, in his usual bored, flat tone that made his deep voice all the more terrifying.

Travis had rushed home in order to ask his father this question, wanting to get it out and over with.  "I know."  He answered.

Kenneth turned his head, a single red eye made contact with Travis's, "what do you want?"

Travis swallowed heavily, "Sally Fisher invited me to spend the night."

"...and?"

"Well,"  the younger Phelps stood a little straighter.  "I figured maybe getting close to them could have some benefits.  To figure out what their planning and all, especially since Packerton...y'know."

Sal Fisher was a shorter male, known for his quiet nature around school and being notoriously bullied by his classmates, Travis included.  Mostly due to his tenancy to dress more feminine than most boys their age dared too, and---most importantly---the heavy prosthetic bound to his face by several straps at all costs.  Travis was drawn to him, originally due to curiousity, but now because he had to be. 

Earlier that week Sal had caught Travis having one of his breakdowns in the school bathrooms.  The day of Mrs. Packerton's murder.  Ever since then, Sal had been trying to gain Travis's trust.  And, much to the blond's dismay, the blunet seemed to be winning.

Kenneth narrowed his eyes, and for a second Travis thought he was in for it.  But the elder blond took another long drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled the smoke into the air once again before standing up and putting it out.  The cult leader's exhausted, emotionless eyes drifted towards Travis again.

Kenneth's face, however, shared little to nothing in common with Travis's.  Covered in angular edges and perpetual eye bags as well as a small beard starting to form.  But other than graying hair, the Phelps showed little to no sign of getting older.  Travis wouldn't be surprised if he used his power to stop his aging, too.  The man looked to be in his thirties despite nearing sixty.

"I guess you can go."  Kenneth responded, "but expect some questions when you get back, and stay out of that temple."  He rested an usually cold hand on Travis's shoulder.  "I mean it, Travis."

The younger blond nodded, "I know, sir." 

"Good,"  Kenneth seemed to return to his stern-but-caring demeanor; one he often assumed during his time at church and in public.  Travis still couldn't tell which of his two personalities were fake; the one who threw glass bottles at his head or the one that could resemble a strict, uncaring father.  He turned Travis towards the dog mask,  "And remember we--"

"Have a reputation to uphold.  I know."  Travis shrugged his father's hands off his shoulders, "you don't have to tell me again."

"Correct."  Kenneth stated, scooping the mask into his hands.  "So no more fuck-ups, got it?  I have enough to work out already with Packerton gone.  The whole organization from here to the other end of the state is in a panic to cover it up."

Travis nodded, a small shiver crawling up his spine at the thought of the death of Mrs. Packerton, which happened a few days prior.

"When are you staying the night?"

"This Friday."  Travis answered.  "Sal wants to become friends to stop the bullying."

Kenneth mumbled something under his breath, something Travis couldn't quite make-out.  "Right then."  He said, aloud, before exiting the room.  "I'll be at the ministry, stay out of trouble."

"Yes...sir."

And with that, Travis was alone in the dreaded house, a new found relief in his step as he quickly ran back up to his room.

Friday.  Four days.

Chapter Text

Ah, yes.

Public school.

The closest thing to hell that wasn't hell itself.

Though Travis couldn't really complain.  After all, it was better than the home schooling his father had him on until middle school.  After years of consistent begging and nagging, Kenneth had finally let him do something normal kids his age did.

Not that there was much of anything truely 'normal' about the Nockfell High to begin with, or half the adults in the town in general.

Considering underneath the surface was the temple; zig-zagging almost a square mile throughout the town, and that the city's beloved priest happened to be the one man behind it all, the town was a breeding zone of any and all paranormal activity.  Including but not limited too; wizards, witches, aliens, ghosts, werewolves, and wendigos. 

Of course this also meant that about one in every five people were cultists, which made behaving in school unendingly difficult for the blond.

Travis's job, according to Kenneth, was to act as the stereotypical stuck-up bully.  This wasn't an issue for Travis, because he found letting his anger out on something that was alive was helpful.  It made him feel...in control.  Powerful.  Feared, even.  Something he lacked back at the ministry, where he constantly felt the fear of disappointing his father, or worse case scenario, getting executed and replaced if he fucked up hard enough.

Kenneth was already furious with him for not stopping Sal and the others from finding the Addison Temple when he had the chance.

Travis would be damned if that happened again.

The blond snapped out of his bored daydreaming as a classmate shouldered by him in the hallway, sending most of Travis's books nearly flying as he was pulled painfully back to reality.

"Watch it, Travis."

Travis clutched his school stuff to keep himself from throwing a punch.

 Larry fucking Johnson.

The greasy-haired, lanky, god-awful metalhead glared at Travis as he continued walking, hands stuffed in his jean pockets and his aggravatingly loud chain wallet jingling as he walked.

Larry was...strange.

Ever since middle school Travis and him were both known for their perpetual rivalry.  The blond didn't really remember much about it, just a blur of something involving a broken window and a baseball.  Ever since then the fights had become more frequent and more and more violent.  And when Sal Fisher started attending their school, the fights reached their peak.

Normally, the blond would have thrown an insult back, but instead he swallowed his growing anger and turned to Larry.

"That was uncalled for."  Travis mumbled, picking up his notebook that had clattered to the floor.

Students turned their heads and whispered to eachother as they swarmed past in the hallways, slowly dwindling in numbers as the next period was going to begin any minute.  Though a few stopped and watched, expecting a fight.  Larry seemed to stop in his tracks, obviously caught off-guard by the blond's remark.

"What?"  He hissed, swinging around.

"I said that was uncalled for."  Travis stood up again, shoulders back and his head raised a little.  "You gonna apologize?"

The metalhead's utter speechlessness and dumbfounded expression deepened, which earned a smirk from Travis.  Though this mockingly polite approach was a style of bullying he didn't use much, some days he just felt like being even more of a nuisance.  

"You got somethin' you wanna say you piece of shit?"  Larry persisted, getting more aggravated by the minute as he stomped his way over.

Travis shook his head, obviously striking a nerve in Larry.  God this was fun.  "I just think it's pretty rude to bump into someone on purpose..."  He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.  "So?  No apology?  Huh.  I thought your father would've taught you better."

Travis was then punched in the gut with a wave of regret that took the shape of Larry's fist.

The blond doubled forwards, letting out a quiet grunt as he hugged himself, fighting the urge to vomit right there on the school floor.

Travis usually won in his and Larry's fights, though the blond found that remarks made about either of his parents usually earned him a good punch.  Not that he meant to or anything, but sometimes shit just slipped out.

And he knew exactly why it affected Larry like this, too.

Larry took Travis by the front of his shirt and pulled him up to meet his gaze.  Travis glared back with the same intensity, gasping for the air that left his lungs the second Larry's fist collided with his midsection.  Three other punches were landed against his face, as his attempts to block them proved futile.

"Don't you ever talk about my father like that."  Larry growled lowly, holding his fist up as he prepared for another round.

It was almost shocking how much him and Larry had in common.  But did that stop all the fighting and bullying?  No.  If anything, it was fuel to the fire.  

"What?"  Travis smirked, his speech slurred due to his now busted lip, "your father that doesn't exist?"

"Larry!"

Travis's and Larry's faces both snapped towards the familiar voice.  A short, blue-haired teenager stood with his hands on his hips a few feet away, obviously sick of having to put up with the pair's fights.  Next to him stood a tired-looking teacher Travis didn't remember the name of, though was indefinitely another cultist.

As if they were two toddlers caught getting into trouble, Travis and Larry shot apart like opposing magnets.  Larry stumbled over to Sal with bleeding knuckles as Travis scooted back against the lockers to recover.

The teacher sighed with a bored expression, "Johnson and Phelps, to the principal's office.  Now."  He said, pointing down the hall.

"But...he started it!"  Travis exclaimed.

"How the fuck did I start it?!"  Larry argued, "you were asking for it you asswipe!"

"You both started it!"  Sal exclaimed, throwing his hands up as the black sockets of his mask turned to meet Travis's.  And though the blond couldn't see the other's expression, he knew he was gonna get lectured later.  "God, why can't you two just get along??"

The bell rang.  The hallways were empty.  Blood rheumatically tapped against Travis's favorite sweater as he wrapped his arms around his aching stomach.

"I'd rather die."  Larry growled.

"Yeah.  What he said."

"Don't you fucking agree with me like that!"

"Wha...what the hell does that even mean, faggot?!"

"Alright, seriously, that's enough."  The teacher butted in, more sternly.  "Sally, thank you for alerting me, but you should get back to class.  I'll take it from here."

"But--"

"No arguments.  Get to class before I write you up for skipping, too."

The masked male sighed in defeat, sending a few glances towards Travis and Larry before shaking his head a little and turning on his heal, walking back towards his next class.

Before Travis knew it, he was in the principal's office, leaning over a trashcan as his nose bled into it, while still suppressing the urge to puke in front of his mutual bully. Larry sat back in a chair at the opposite corner of the room with his arms crossed, bouncing his knee with bleeding knuckles and a smug look on his face.

The blond knew he should apologize, or something, but the words seemed to be stuck in his throat as he sent glances towards the metalhead.  It was painfully quiet.  Too quiet.  The lights of the principal's office flickered repetitively and the clock mounted on the wall to Travis's right ticked slowly.

Larry was the first to speak.  "You gonna throw up or what?"

"Fuck off."  Travis replied, gripping the edges of the garbage can.  Oh god.  Speaking made the nausea worse.  "Your punch wasn't that powerful, cocky bitch."

"Look who's talking."  Larry mumbled, "you're just butthurt you lost."

"You literally punched me because you were butthurt!"

"But yet, you still lost."  Larry smirked.

Travis sent a final glare at Larry, before scoffing, wiping the remainders of his bloody nose against his sleeve.

He thought about his promise to Sal made in the bathrooms a few days before.  The day of Packerton's murder.

He frowned.

Travis promised he'd be better, and he blew it.

Sal was disappointed in him.

"I'm sorry."  The words slipped out as more of a desperate mumble.  Like a little kid after accidentally breaking a vase.

That shocked expression Larry had was back, he blinked as he turned to Travis.  "W-what?"

"That shit I said about your dad."  Travis explained, staring into the trashcan as he focused on not only not throwing up, but also not making eye contact with Larry.  "It was shitty.  I shouldn't have said that."

Before Larry even had a chance to reply, the principal poked his head out his his office with a pissed expression.  Travis knew he was in for it.  

 "Mr. Johnson."  The principal barked, causing the lanky male beside Travis to flinch slightly.  

"Fuckin' hell."  The other teenager sighed under his breath as he pushed himself to his feet and made his way towards the door.

Travis glanced up, swallowing heavily.  Regret and a little bit of pity swirling through his mind.

If only Larry really knew what really happened to his father.

A thought arose in his mind that he would, one day, tell him what happened.  If the blond could take care of his anger and fear enough to talk to him, that is.

Chapter Text

The principal, of course, also being a cultist, let Travis off the hook with a simple after school detention.  But that didn't stop the feeling of dread and anxiety that came with the fight he and Larry had.  

Fighting always seemed to make him feel better in the moment, but never for long.  The adrenaline had him usually feeling carefree.  Undefeatable.  But within the next few hours he would slip right back down into his angry, anxious state.  Almost like an addiction, or a withdrawal.

He knew fighting and bullying people wasn't the answer, but what else was there to do?  It pleased his father and was a way to get his anger out even for just a few minutes, it seemed like the perfect way out, right?

Larry was suspended the rest of the week for throwing the first punch and nearly breaking the blond's nose (again).  Like usual, he was furious that Travis was let off the hook, and there would probably be a follow-up fight before the end of the week.  But Travis didn't care.  He never did.  It wasn't part of the plan to.

But then again, neither was sneaking out of the house while Kenneth was drunk to meet up with Sal at the apartments.  But he couldn't find an excuse not to come, so, he had too.  

Mentally preparing himself to get lectured, he took his time walking to the area behind the apartments and begining to search for a way inside.  

Crickets filled the early October atmosphere with a tranquil, calm feeling.  The sky was lit up with a vibrant mixture of yellow, purple, and blue as some clouds that promised rain lingered in the distance.  The blond scanned the run-down brick exterior of the building, he would have to climb to Sal's window if it meant avoiding the cameras set up inside.

Pushing himself up onto a trashcan and then again up onto a tall, chain-link fence, the blond let out a grunt as he pulled himself up onto a creaky fire escape.  Arms already sore and out of breath, he rested there for a few seconds, leaning his head back against the bricks.  God, this idea was stupid.

"The hell you doin'?"

Travis let out a yelp as he nearly slipped, snapping his head towards the direction of the deep voice.  A dark-skinned man, who looked to be about in his twenties, looked out through his window.  Bright red hair stood up from his head, styled into a mowhawk.  He wore a ripped jean jacket and his face was dotted with piercings.

Travis growled, "you scared the shit outta me, asshole!"

"Look who's talking!"  The male barked a laugh, the inside of his apartment appeared to be covered wall to wall with band posters.  Figures.  This guy must be one of Sal and Larry's friends. 

"The name's Robert, relax, I'm no snitch."  He said, with a smirk as he leaned out the window.  "Hate to say it dude but I'm pretty sure no girls your age live here, I think you've been set up."

"Wh-what?"  Travis blinked, "It's nothing like that!"

Robert raised an eyebrow, "really now, huh?"  He chuckled.  "I'm just messin' with you.  You're that Travis kid, right?  Sally told me you were coming, said to watch in case you tried to do something stupid.  Like climbing the building."

Travis rolled his eyes, "Ha ha, very funny."  He said, carefully pushing himself to his feet and trying to keep his balance.  "Just tell me which window is his apartment."  

"Second row down, the one with the blinds two windows to your right."   Robert said, pointing to a window with the light on.  

"Thank you."  Travis snapped, beginning to climb the metal stairs to the window.  How ironic that the fire escape stairs seemed to be a hazard in of itself.  The metal kept creaking and swaying under his weight; but it would work.  

"Remember to wear protection!"

"F-fuck off!"  

Robert's laugh could be heard from the window before he shut it, leaving Travis a temporarily flustered mess from his last comment.  The blond growled, rubbed his blushing face, and continued his climb until he reached Sal's window.  Thank fuck, it was open.  Sal was expecting him after all.

With a grunt and a rather painful fall, Travis pushed himself into Sal's room and collapsed onto the floor as his limbs recovered from the climb.  He ran his hands down his face with a sigh.  Well, at least he made it?

"Well, well, well."  Travis opened his eyes at the sound of the familiar, muffled, and slightly-accented voice.  Sal Fisher stood in his doorway, his prosthetic haphazardly and messily attached to his face and his electric blue hair down and drifting over his shoulders.  He was leaning against the doorway with Gizmo in his arms, gently stroking the cat's ears.  "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

"I said I would."  Travis pushed himself to sit cross-legged on Sal's floor as he smoothed his hair down to its original state.  "I may not like you very much, but I do keep promises."

Sal hummed in response, letting Gizmo jump to the floor, "hypocrite."

"Can we not talk about that?"  Travis said quickly.  "Listen it's...been a bad day."

"You're not the one who got suspended."  Gizmo fell from Sal's arms as he approached Travis and pulled him to his feet, before taking the blond's hand and inspecting the scrapes he aquired from climbing moments before.  "And quite frankly, you kind-of deserved to be."

The blond sighed, looking down a little.  "I know."

There was a moment of silence before Sal led him back to his bathroom with a small 'common' and retrieved some bandages from under the sink.  Travis sat down on the edge of the bathtub, looking down at his bleeding hands as he stayed deep in thought.  He had never actually been inside the apartments before, and it was a rather surreal experience.

He knew for sure he wouldn't be watched by any cameras in the room, but that didn't stop the paranoia.  Plus the fact that it was likely the demon still lingered in the shadows, waiting to reveal itself until the time was right.  Until the night of Sal's execution.

Oh yeah.  Right.  It should probably have been mentioned that yes, Travis did know what was to come of Sal and his friends.  But he didn't dare tell them.  He didn't have the guts to.

"Listen, I know you're trying."  Sal said, sitting next to his friend as Travis obediently held his hands out so that Sal could work.  "And I'm proud of you wanting to change, but...Larry's pissed, man.  You two have gotta start getting along if you want this to stop."

"He started it."

"And you egged him on."

"What are you saying?"  Travis asked, avoiding eye contact as he watched Sal gently clean his stinging hands.

Sal sighed, "I'm saying the rest of the gang is gonna be here on Friday."

"W-what?" The blond's heart jumped in his chest.  Why didn't he see this coming?  Of course Sal would do this.  "But you said--"

"You said you wanted to try and change, well, this is the best way to do it."  Sal sighed.

"But they hate me!  I am not going to get beat up by that flamer again!"  Travis exclaimed, causing Sal to pause as the blond clutched the edge of the bath tub, fighting his anger down.  The blond blinked at the other, his grip on the bathtub loosening as he studied Sal's startled expression.

 "...sorry."  Travis looked down, "That just slipped out."

"It's okay, Trav."

Something in his chest warmed at the nickname. Travis turned his head.

"Is something else bothering you?"  Sal asked, taking a seat next to Travis on the edge of the bathtub.

 The blond cleared his throat, "no." 

 Sal deadpanned, and Travis imagined a blue eyebrow raising in suspicion under his prosthetic. "You sure?"

"I mean," Travis pulled nervously at his collar, "Yes--" 

Sal was giving him a weird look.

"Look, I don't know!"  Travis threw his hands up.  "Just...home stuff.  Or something."

He wasn't lying.  Kenneth was drunk when he got home from school and, considering Travis was his only "family" left, he had to deal with it.  As per usual.  

It seemed that ever since his mom disappeared as well as Luke's death, Kenneth usually spent his days either drunk, at the church, or down in the temple.  Almost like a cycle.  

"Is it your father again?"

"Well, duh."  Travis snorted, looking away again.  "Who else would it be?"

"Do you...need to talk about it?"

Travis was about to deny, but he shut his mouth again.  He just needed to watch what he said.

"He's..."  It was like the words were stuck in his throat.  "My da...well, he was drunk when I got home."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Yeah, but..."  The blond swallowed heavily.  "It's fine. I'm fine."

Sal hummed, "the cuts on your hands weren't from the climb, were they?"

"He broke a bottle," Travis replied carefully. "I had to clean it up."

A few moments of silence passed.

"I-it's complicated."  Travis finished.

"My dad drinks a lot, too.  I get it."  Sal sighed, gesturing for Travis's other busted hand. "Ever since my mom died."

Travis's stomach twisted, he pulled his hand back. "I-I should...leave."

"...You just got here?"  Sal blinked.  "Did I say something wrong?  We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."

"No."  He moved his hands away before Sal could realize they were shaking.  "I just-...forgot my dad needs me home by seven."

"...it's five thirty, Travis."  His blue eyes drifted over Travis's tense form.

"Hey.  It's okay, alright man?  You're safe here."  Sal put a hand on his friend's shoulder.  "Just breathe, alright?  Trust me."

"I'm not."  Travis stood up.  "You don't get it...I'm really not."

"Listen--"

"I have to go.  I'll see you tomorrow, Sal."

And with that, he left the same way he came in.  Sal called after him but it was too late.  The blond was gone.

After all this time; Travis couldn't believe he forgot the one detail that caused this whole shit show to begin with. He couldn't believe he forgot what his family had done.

Travis's father killed Sal's mother.

And Sal had no idea.

Friday.  Three days.

Chapter Text

"Did you hear what happened with Larry and that Travis kid the other day?"

"What?  Damn.  Did I miss another fight?"

Almost all the passing conversations that Travis walked by that next day were about his and Larry's fight.  Which was nothing unusual, in fact normally the word would've gotten out way quicker.

And, also as per usual, Travis kept his head down and avoided all eye contact with other students as he slowly walked down the hallway.  He was usually purposefully pretty late to gym, in order to change alone.

"Haha!  Look at that...the tiny faggot's crying!"

Though, it seemed his luck had other plans.

 The blond looked up at the sudden commotion, his eyes scanned the swarm of students around him until a certain masked teenager caught his eye.

Sal was on his knees towards the end of the hallway, calmly gathering his books while trying not to get his fingers stepped on by any passing teens.  A pair of boys about Travis's height stood in front of him, a smug look on their faces.

Mike and David.

Travis scowled.

"Who said I was crying?"  Sal said, calmly, before standing up,  "I have a prosthetic face, dumbass. I breathe weird. Get your facts straight."

"Aww."  David barked a laugh, pushing his dirty-blond hair out of his eyes before shoving Sal against the lockers, sending his books, once again, flying.  "Look at that!  You even insult like a girl!"

Travis found himself walking faster towards the group.

 "Heh."  David's companion said, cracking his knuckles loudly, "I bet he screams like one, too."

"Wait, w-what are you doing?" Sal asked, grasping his prosthetic mask tightly as he knew what was coming.  "Waitwaitwaitwait!  No!"

"Ooohhh, quit bawling!"  Mike laughed, grabbing one of the mask's straps and yanking, "I just wanna peak..."

The black-haired teen let out a yelp as he was suddenly tripped, flailing his arms before falling into David, sending them both painfully to the floor as Sal ducked away.

A few passing students erupted in laughter.

Travis sped away, making it apear like an accident. He held his head low as he peaked behind him to catch Sal's reaction.

The blue-haired teen was already staring at Travis, his equally blue eyes revealed for a second in the lighting before he nodded at the blond, quickly collecting his books and running off.  Travis felt his heart jump.

"Hey, it was you!"

Travis turned to look at the two jocks, reverting back to his smug scowl.

"You'll pay for this, fucking flamer!"  Mike continued, trying to catch his breath after getting it knocked out of him.  The pair struggled away from eachother, their faces red from embarassment.

"Suck my dick!"  Travis argued back, "nobody bullies Sally Face but me!"

And with that, he slipped into the crowd of students and into the locker rooms.

<><>

Travis despised gym.

It was always a hassle to hide his scars on a regular basis, which was why he usually wore long sleeves, but having to change for gym made it a hundred percent harder.

He swallowed heavily at the sight of his bare back in the mirror; which had a deep, rugged scar of the Devourer's symbol that stretched from the base of his neck down to his lower waist, one of many across his back but definitely the worst he had.  It was red and still slightly raw, considering he got it done on his eighteenth birthday just a month ago.  A Phelps tradition.

The blond had never screamed so loud in his life whenever he felt the burning knife on his back that night.  Even the thought made him nauseous.

"Hey, Travis."

The blond quickly turned away and pulled his shirt on at the sound of Sal's voice, "what the hell do you want?"

The other paused, blinked, and shook his head.  "I just wanted to thank you for what you did earlier."  He said, fidgeting with the end of his gym shirt.  "That was...actually pretty nice of you."

Travis made eye contact with Sal, it wasn't often that the blond got to see his eyes. "yeah?"  He said.  "It's no problem.  Those assholes had it coming, anyway."

"Right, yeah."  Sal answered, before reaching to grab Travis's hand. The blond jumped slightly, but relaxed when he realized Sal was only looking at his bandaged hands.

"Did you clean these cuts when you got home?"

"Well, duh."  The blond pulled his hands back.  "I'm not dumb, I know how to take care of myself."

"You could've just...walked in the front door like a normal person, you know."  Sal said, with a chuckle.

"I didn't want Addison thinking I was gonna kidnap you or whatever."  Travis lied, with a shrug.  "I've got enough of a record as it is."

"What record?" Sally scoffed, "the teachers let you off without punishment almost every time.  It's weird."

"I'm good at talking them down."  He lied.  "Speaking of school, the hell you doing in here?  Class started almost ten minutes ago."

"I get a pass because of my prosthetic, I wait until everyone is done before coming in here."  He tapped the side of the plastic face with his jet black nails.  "And you?"

"Masturbating."  Travis scoffed sarcastically.

"Oh woooow!"  Sal mock-gasped.  "Would you look at that, the hardcore Christian is going to hell."

"I was kidding."  Travis rolled his eyes,  "you're the one who's going to hell."

Sal giggled, "hey, maybe it's funner down there. I'll fit right in with my face so screwed up."

An awkward silence fell over the two of them as Travis averted his gaze.

"You can laugh, you know," Sal elbowed him. "It's funny. It's not like you did it."

Travis swallowed heavily, "yeah, heh, I know."

The air conditioners struggled to fill the silence as Sal shifted his weight and started to pull his messy, blue hair up into a bun.  He cleared his throat; "so...about last night..."  

Travis tensed, not this again.

"You sure there's nothing else going on you wanna talk about?"  Sal asked.

The blond held his usual stern expression.

He would have to tell Sal eventually.

And there were no cameras in the locker room.

Travis swallowed.  He wasn't ready.  Sal wouldn't be ready.  Not here.  Not now.

"It's nothing. It's fine."  He said, with a shrug.  "I'm fine.  I was just...in a mood...or something."

"Okay, well..."  Sal sighed.  "You're welcome to stay at my place whenever you need to, man.  I'm sure my dad won't mind."

"Right."

Another few moments of silence.

"Weeee should probably head out before we get yelled at." Sal suggested.

The blond nodded in agreement, shoving his hands in his uniform pockets.

"I'll still be seeing you on Friday...right?"  Sal asked, rushing ahead of Travis.

"...Fine."  Travis rolled his eyes.  "As long as you keep the metalhead five feet away from me at all costs, yes, I'll come."

Travis watched as Sal's eyes lit up, he stepped forwards and quickly wrapped his arms around Travis's torso in a tight hug.  The blond felt his face heat up again.

"Wha-- what are you doing?"

"Hugging you, obviously."

"Why?"

"Because."  Sal shifted to look up at Travis.  This time, the blond could see how one of his bright blue eyes was a slightly different color than the other.  "You seem like you need one."

Travis blinked, butterflies filling his stomach as he smiled slightly.  He let out a little bit of a chuckle, patting Sal's back awkwardly, "sure, whatever."

Sal gasped, breaking away from the hug. "no way!  So you can smile!"

"Oh, shut up."  The smile was gone as quick as it came.

"But you smiled!!"

"I said shut. Up."  Travis said through his teeth, "someone might hear you, moron."

"Whatever, asswipe."  Sal said, with another smile as he pushed the locker room doors open.  "See you at lunch?"

"Yeah..."  Travis returned the smile.  "See you at lunch."

Sal nodded, before going off to join his group friends across the room.  Travis stared after him, letting out a sigh.

He heard the sound of someone sticking laughter from inside the locker room, causing him to turn abruptly to look behind him.

Was someone in there with them the entire time?

Travis groaned a bit and rubbed his eyes.  No.  It was just the lack of sleep getting to him.

That's all.  He was just tired.

Friday.  Two days.

Chapter Text

"...and that concludes this week's meeting."

The sound of his father's voice echoed in the depths of the temple as other members began to exit, mingling about. Travis, however, stayed silent, positioned behind his father as he closed his book and set it aside.  Murmurs picked up around the stuffy, freezing cold room as cultists migrated out of it, making conversation with their fellow cultists.

"Are we done already?"  Travis asked, having snapped out of his usual daydreaming during meetings.

"Not quite."  His father answered, sliding the stone wolf head off his face, avoiding eye contact with his son, as per usual.  "I have a meeting with some followers to discuss some things."

"Am I coming with?"

"No."

Travis pushed himself off the ledge he was sitting on, pushing the aggravatingly long cloak away from his feet as he stumbled after his father.  The room become slowly more and more dark as other members left with their torches, sending shivers down Travis's spine.  He didn't think he would ever get used to the suffocatingly dark atmosphere of the underground temple.

The bond's attention, however, was focused back to his father whenever he heard the cliche sound of a sword being unsheathed.

"You see this, Travis?"

Travis's eyes widened at the sight of his father carrying an almost glowing green sword with a golden handle.  He recognized the sword's case as it had been in his house's living room for as long as the blond could remember.

"This is the sword.  Blood of man."  Kenneth explained, running his finger long the edge, which caused a small, dark cut where black blood would smear on his finger tip.  "The sword I am supposed to be assassinated with."

"I know, sir."  Travis shook his head so that his hood fell down onto his shoulders, "Betrayer of our kind, resurrected by Ass-Mint-something . . . great accident."

"That's Asintma, to you, boy."  Kenneth frowned, sliding the sword back into its place before gazing back over at his departing followers.  "Someone in this room is supposed to kill me."

Travis knew who it was.  He had known since he learned of the prophecy to begin with.  However, Kenneth was quite evidently clueless.  Or denying the inevitable.  "I thought we found them already?"  He asked, humoring his father.

"I'm afraid not."  Kenneth huffed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.  "But that's where you come in."

The blond tensed, '"me?"

His father turned, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag of it.  Travis scrunched his nose. "In case anything were to happen to me, you would be my replacement."  The elder Phelps continued, "that's why it's so important you listen to me and memorize the prophecy."

The blond snorted, "there's an awful lot of memorizing involved with mass genocide, huh."

The sound of the slap of Kenneth's hand across Travis's face echoed through the empty room.

"Travis!"  Kenneth snapped. His voice echoed in a way that made the blond recoil again. "I'm serious.  The fate of the world is in our hands, we have no room to mess around."

Says the alcoholic. Travis thought, rubbing his cheek, but he kept his mouth tight shut and his hands at his sides.  "Yes, sir."  He said through clenched teeth.

"Now get going."  Kenneth sighed, pulling his own hood down to his shoulders, the younger blond took note on how his father seemed thoroughly exhausted.  "You have chores to do."

Travis was already out the door before his father could finish his sentence, stomping down the dark catacombs like the angry little kid he was as he struggled to take off the heavily uniform.

"Fuck this shit."  He mumbled incoherently as he carelessly threw the heavy cloak to the side and stomped up the steps to the ministry. 

His father didn't care about him at all.

At least, not like he used to.

"Fuck the cult...fuck the ministry..."

Everything changed and it's all the stupid cult's fault.  Some dumb prophecy...some stupid sword...

Some stupid blue-haired kid.

The blond threw the heavy wooden door open, squinting at the sudden increase in light before slamming the door shut behind him.

"FUCK!  YOU!"

The young blond's voice echoed endlessly throughout the dimly-lit ministry as he yelled at the closed door.  He felt his shoulders relax and his breathing slow down at the sudden outburst, it felt good to finally let that out.  Taking a shaky breath in, he rubbed his face of the tears that threatened to fall as the almost calm, tranquil quiet of the ministry seemed to help him.

Why was he suddenly upset about this again?  It was normal.  Normal for his father to prioritize the cult over his son.  Normal for him to admit to only having him as a...replacement.

That's all he was.  A back-up plan.

The screw-up of the family.

The disappointment.

He sighed, locking the door as per usual.

There was nothing he could do about this, so there was no reason to yell.

It just never really occurred to him before that his father didn't care about him the way he used to.  Like his empathy was slowly being taken away...whatever.  Forget it.  It didn't matter.

The blond turned and--

Wait.

"Oh my fucking God."  Travis's arms dropped to his sides in defeat.  "Are you shit fucking me right now, Johnson?"

"What?"  Larry shook the rain from his hair as he stepped in from the open doorway of the ministry innocently, a smirk on his face.  "I heard your yelling and thought you died.  Wanted to poke your corpse with a stick or something."

"Wow.  Thanks."  Travis rolled his eyes.  "Real thoughtful of you.  Get out."

"Relax, Phelps."  The metalhead put his hands up, "The door was open when I came in, just got curious."  Larry's eyes drifted to the door behind Travis, "what's in there?"

"None of your business."  Travis stepped more in front of the door to block it from Larry, "it's just a basement."

"If it's just a basement then why did you scream at it, huh?"  Larry smirked, stepping to the side again.  "got something to hide, Traa-viss?"

Travis blocked him again.

"This is very illegal, you know."  Travis growled, "so unless you want another smudge on your record I suggest you make like your father and fucking leave."

God.  Travis really needed to learn when to shut his damn mouth.

Larry's expression seemed to drop dramatically as Travis could almost see the pure anger in his eyes.  The brunet let out a growl before harshly shoving Travis against a closet door.  The blond let out a grunt at the impact, temporarily stunning him as Larry reached for the basement doorknob.

But...something wasn't right.

Footsteps could be heard echoing slightly from another room...

Kenneth's coming.

Travis, in a panic, grabbed Larry's wrist.  The brunet protested and tried to struggle free but Travis was stronger, pulling them both into the dark closet and slamming the door shut as both of them were submerged in darkness.

"What the fuck are you--?!"

Travis held a hand over Larry's mouth and shushed him.  "Shut up.  I'm saving your life."

The basement door opened and closed outside.   Two sets of footsteps could be heard against the wooden floors.  Travis's heart slammed in his chest.

"What the hell was that?"  An unfamiliar male voice asked, though judging by the fact that he came from the basement, he was indefinitely another cultist.

"Who knows."  Kenneth said with a sigh, "kid's probably pissed again."

"And rightfully so.  This must be a lot for someone his age, you know.  You should be a little easier on him."

"I am easier on him."  Kenneth answered, "he just doesn't understand how important this all is."

"Like you didn't act the same way when you were his age."  The other male argued, "in fact, with you it was probably worse."

"I could be so much harsher on the kid than I am now."  Kenneth's tone darkened.  "He should be greatful I'm not teaching him like my father taught me. His methods were violent---but they worked. I learned. Travis isn't."

A few moments of silence passed outside, Larry had relaxed as him and Travis began to listen in on the conversation.

"Listen."  The unfamiliar man sighed, "I hate to say this but as your friend and devoted follower I feel like this has to be asked."

Kenneth was quiet.  A few flickers of a lighter could be heard.  

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing? After what happened in '84 and all that?"

"It doesn't matter now."

Kenneth sighed as his voice held an emotion Travis hadn't heard in years.  Almost like...regret?  Despair?  It almost made him flinch, but it was gone as soon as it came.

"It's only a matter of time before it comes, and we need to be ready.  My feelings on the matter are unimportant, this needs to be done."  Kenneth finished.

"But..."  The man retorted, "don't you feel any remorse? For people like Jim and the Holmes family? Or, hell, even Dia--"

"I said that's enough."  Kenneth snapped, causing Travis to tense and elbow a shelf behind him.  The younger blond cursed under his breath.

The two men outside were quiet for a second before Kenneth let out a sigh, "let's take this outside."  He said.  "I'd be damned if that boy was listening this entire time.."

"...yes, sir."  The footsteps subsided as the two men left the ministry.  Travis let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

It was then the blond realized what position he was in.

Sitting awkwardly on the ground with Larry pressed up against him.  Travis could feel Larry's breath on his face in the dark; he felt his face heat up.

"Get the fuck off me, queer."  Travis pushed Larry's face away, causing the other to sit up abruptly, a 'bang!' could be heard as he hit his head off the shelf.

Larry sucked in a breath, his hands flying to the top of his skull, "son of a bitch!"

"Serves you right for breaking and entering, asshole."

Larry kicked Travis between his legs.

"OW! What the fuck?!  I saved your ass back there!"  Travis said through clenched teeth as he struggled to get as far away from Larry as possible--which was only a few inches.

"Right after you insulted my family again and locked me in a closet!"

"Who said it was locked?!"

"I did, fucknuts."  Larry said, jiggling the doorknob. "You must have jammed it when you slammed it shut." 

Travis blinked.

Shit.

Chapter Text

 The very first time Travis and Larry met, it was the day before the first day of sixth grade.  The brunet had ended the year on a bad note, spending almost three weeks in juvy and then most of the year taking summer classes.  Travis, however, had just convinced Kenneth to let him start taking actual public school after months of constant nagging.

Of course, this also happened to be around the time Larry's father disappeared off the face of the Earth.  Quite literally.

Jim Johnson was always a bit of an enigma.  Though Travis never really suspected that he was an alien, his disappearance was...well...odd.  It wasn't until much later that Kenneth began to realize that Jim may have been exactly who they were looking for, but it was much too late to do anything about it.  It was a few weeks after Jim's disappearance that Travis and Larry first came in contact.

It was a sunny, quiet afternoon when Travis heard the alarming sound of glass breaking from his bedroom window in the next room.  Terrified, of course, the blond rushed in.  Broken glass littered the floor as a baseball slowly rolled towards his feet.  Travis raced to the window just in time to see the brunet bolt off back to the apartments, the baseball bat laying abandoned on the ground.

Though the window never really meant much to Travis, the anger still remained.  A perpetual tension between the two males and their families grew as Larry continued teasing Travis about his "family" and Travis continued taking years of pent up anger out on him.

And now, as they were locked in a pitch-black closet while Larry picked the lock, Travis began to wonder what the hell he ever did to deserve having this shit of a life.

"Could you be any slower?"  

"Relax, princess."  Larry sneered, "picking locks ain't exactly easy."

"Who the hell you calling princess?!"  Travis snapped before sighing again, officially giving up.  If he was going to get out of this without a broken nose, he needed to keep his anger under control.  "Just...call one of your freakshow friends or something."

"Why don't you just call your dad?"  Larry replied, shifting slightly as he continued messing with the lock.  "He's gotten you out of everything else I'm sure he can get us out of his closet, too."

Ouch.   

Travis opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Well?"  Travis didn't need to see Larry to know the teenager had his arms crossed.  "I've got shit to do."

"I'm not calling my dad."

"Aw, why?"  Larry mocked, "do you, maybe, want to be locked in here with me?  Mister-oh-so-bad homophobe?"

"Shut up."

Larry chuckled, "don't think I don't read what you scribble in your math notebook during class.  I know what's up."

"Shut up!"

"What?  I'm just messing with 'ya.  After all, can't imagine what everyone would think when they find out the oh-so-terrifying Travis Phelps likes another guy."

"I said shut up!"  Travis yelled, hitting his fist against the wall so hard the impact vibrated into his shoulder.

 Larry finally went quiet for a minute.  The silence, even if just for a few moments seemed almost suffocatingly long in the stuffy, small space they were stuck in.  Travis's heart was pounding in his chest with anger he was struggling to keep under control, and he took a deep breath as he relaxed his now aching hand.  He couldn't fight Larry.  He wouldn't fight Larry again.  He had a promise to keep.

"You know..."  Larry sighed a little, his voice having a sudden sadness to it that caught Travis off guard.

"You know...what?"  

Larry stayed silent.

"Well, spill it!"

"You're dad and my dad were friends or something, weren't they?"  Larry asked, "I heard Kenneth earlier."

Travis scoffed.  He was afraid of this question.  He shrugged, "the hell if I know.  Probably."

Now that his eyes were adjusted, he could see Larry's thoughtful expression just barely in the dark as he sat facing away from travis, towards the door.

"Sal kept saying you might have a reason for how you act."  The brunet said, "I guess he was right.  As always."

Travis swallowed heavily.  Now two people were starting to catch on to what was really doing on.  Shit.  If Kenneth wasn't already pissed Travis had eavesdropped, he sure as hell would be now.  

God, I'm so fucking stupid.

"Yeah, and?"

"Well."  The brunet ran a hand through his hair,  "I'm just saying that maybe me and you aren't so different after all."

Travis stared at Larry, blinking.  

What just happened?

"What do you mean by that?"  Travis muttered.

Larry got back to shoving the end of a pocket knife into the lock of the doorknob.  "I know what it's like."

The anger rose in Travis's chest again.  "Know what what's like?"

Travis thought he did already know the answer to his slightly-stupid question, but something in Larry's focused gaze threw him off.  What the hell was he hiding?  What was he thinking?  Did Larry know his secret? 

Did Larry know he was part of the cult?

Was Larry trying to relate to him on the fucked-up-dad front?

Or did Larry just admit that he was gay, too?

What the fuck was going on?

Before Travis could ask, the doorknob clicked, and the door creaked open slowly with a anti-climatic squeak.  Light from the ministry's main room flooded the closet, making Travis squint.  How long were they even in there?  Nevertheless, Travis squeezed out first, seeing the coast was clear, he motioned for Larry to follow him.

A roll of thunder from the outside filled the awkward silence between the two males as they stood by the door of the ministry.  Larry's usual bored expression replaced the more conflicted one he held in the closet.

Travis soon snapped out of his confused, angry daze as he remembered he had a reputation to uphold.  If he just let him go unharmed, it would be suspicious.  Combined with the fact that Larry might tell Sal what he heard Kenneth say, Travis had to make sure the other would stay quiet.

"This meet-up never happened.  Got it?"  Travis growled lowly, "I don't wanna hear anything about this from your freakshow friends or you'll regret it, faggot."

Larry chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly, "got it, Jesus-fucker."

"S-stop calling me that, asshole!"

Larry only laughed harder before Travis threw him back to the ground.

"Your head's getting too big after winning that fight on Monday."  Travis snapped, cracking his knuckles. "don't forget who you're dealing with, Johnson."

"Right."  Larry got up and brushed his hoodie off, his tired brown eyes flashed knowingly as they made contact with Travis's.  He smirked. "Your secret's safe with me."

Travis scowled.  

Larry only smiled.

"Get the fuck outta here before my father gets back."  Travis said, breaking the tension. "He's already pissed at you enough."

Larry hummed in response, before shuffling over to the door and pushing it open.  He hesitated, glancing over to Travis again.

"By the way."  Larry said innocently, though a small smirk on the male's face proved to Travis that he knew more than he was letting on.  "You might wanna watch your back.  Literally.  With a nasty scar like that, people might start thinking you're part of a cult or something."

With a subtle glare, Larry then closed the door and left like nothing had happened.

All the color drained from Travis's face.

Larry knew.  Larry fucking knew.

Friday.  One day.

Chapter Text

Normal.

A word that can be both a compliment and an insult.  The limbo between being bad and good. The healthy medium. The overlook

Normal.

A word that can be both a compliment and an insult.  The limbo between being bad and good. The healthy medium. The overlooked.  The majority.  

A word many teenagers spent most of their school time striving to be.  Fighting and insulting and belittling others for their differences just to make themselves seem more normal.  To be more average.  A face in the crowd. For if you stray out of that normality for any reason; your life is immediately and forever a living nightmare.

 This was the same for Travis and Kenneth, though in more of a life-or-death sense.

The Phelpses were always a strong, religious, happy, nuclear family.  A family that couldn't be suspected of anything other than being a bit too strict and uptight.  They needed to be, in order to avoid all suspicion; normal.

At least, that's how Kenneth saw it.  And his father, too.  And his father before that.  

And if Travis strayed away from it in any way, he would be grounded.  Punished. Scolded.

He's learned to live with it.

He adapted to it, despite having what his father called "shortcomings."  Like, for example, being gay.  Or lacking his father's complete lack of empathy.  Or completely lacking the ability to kill.

Though he was anything but normal, he was called that.  Just a normal, shitty, spoiled, teenaged nightmare.  And it was his job as a Phelps to keep it that way, and keep his family's secret at all costs.

Normal.

But, then again, that was all old news.

Travis spent hours in his room pacing the floor, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.  He did the same thing when he woke up the next morning before school started.

Larry saw his scar.

But how?  He was suspended all week.

Travis looked out at the apartments across the street.  

He could only think of one possibility.  And it made his fists clench and his face burn just thinking about it.

Sal.  It had to be Sally Fisher.  

Sally walked into the gym locker rooms while Travis was still pulling his shirt on. Sal was the only one who could have possibly seen it.

But...Sal would surely have recognized the symbol, right?  Sally would've freaked out right then and there if he saw it.

Right?

Or maybe, Travis was being tricked. Manipulated to trust Sal so that the blue-haired teen could finally our Travis's family once and for all.  Ultimately leading to Travis's execution.

The blond stopped pacing, and took a breath.

He should have listened to his father.  He should have blocked them all out.  He should never have gotten attached to anyone.  

He should have been a normal Phelps.

But no.  He wasn't a normal Phelps.

He was never meant to be a normal Phelps.  The prophecy said so itself. 

Travis was the only cultist with a relationship close to Sal.

Which would mean he would be the Betrayer.  

Travis would kill Kenneth with the sword when the time was right.

So why did it matter if Sal and the others knew if they were going to find out anyway?

Oh, right.

Because they didn't know the prophecy existed yet.

Travis nervously glanced at the clock.  Six-fifty-two.  The bus would be here any minute.

The blond quickly got dressed, shoved his half-assed homework into his bag, and left. 

Travis got to school without any problem.  Usually Larry was on his bus, but obviously he wouldn't be there that day.  So Travis was, again, alone with his worries.

The day was the same as the day before, cloudy and dark with occasional rain and thunderstorms sweeping the suburban side of Nockfell.  Rain tapped against his hooded figure as Travis slipped by the passing, gossiping students unnoticed.  He slipped into the looming building of Nockfell High and down the dimly-lit hallways.

Still, Mrs. Packerton's death was all everyone was talking about.  Just the thought of the old math teacher made Travis's stomach turn.  

Packerton was quickly and sloppily executed by Kenneth after Sal had snuck into the apartments and saw something he shouldn't have.  Well, saw multiple things he shouldn't have.  The old lady died in a car crash on her way back from the school, before her secret was found out.  The news papers didn't cover it, and the Devourers had a replacement substitute the next day.  The cover up was anything but subtle, and probably raised suspicions instead of killing them, but it worked.  It would soon fade from people's minds and Sal and his gang didn't mess with anything else after.

The day proceeded as usual, and went by much faster than Travis had expected.  He avoided any contact with Sal Fisher and his friends as they sent him confused looks.  Sally was particularly confused, considering he figured Travis would take the opportunity to get to know Sal more after Larry's suspension.

Soon, it was lunch time.  Bologna day.

But Travis wasn't hungry.

His gaze switched routinely from Sal's lunch table, to the entrance to the cafeteria, and then back to his notebook.  His heart still beating fast and his hands still shaking.  Larry's statement repeated over and over and over in his head.

It was like the world was spinning around him.  Everybody's eyes were on him.  His scars burned with phantom pains.  He felt nauseous.  He couldn't be here.  The lights were too bright.  It was too loud.

"Hey."

Travis blinked.  How long was he staring at his hands?  

It was quiet.  Students were filtering out of the cafeteria, sending Travis weird looks.  The blond swallowed heavily and wiped at the sweat collecting on his brow, he turned, and immediately the panic set back in.

Sal.

"You alright?"  The masked teenager asked gently, seating himself beside Travis, "I haven't seen you all day."

"Why'd you tell him?"  Travis barked, knocking the chair backwards as he stood up and away from the other, "after all you've done for me why'd you tell him?"

Sal's eyes flashed with confusion, "wha...what?"

"Cut the bullshit, Fisher."  Travis hissed, grabbing the front of the other's shirt and lifting him up.  "Why'd you tell Larry?"

"I-I didn't tell Larry anything, Travis,"  Sal held up his hands palacingly, "are you high?"

Travis's nostrils flared as his other fist clenched at his side.  His heart beat in his ears as he stared into Sal's slightly-heterochromic gaze.  Travis' mind was racing.  His face burned with angry tears about to fall. 

Travis could see the slight scaring over Sal's eyebrows as they scrunched.  He could see where part of an eyelid had been ripped at, and the shadow that suggested his skull had been indented.

Sal wasn't scared.  He was worried.

Sal didn't tell Larry about Travis' scar.

"You..."  Travis choked on his words, letting Sal slowly slip to ghe ground, "you really don't know anything?"

Sal shook his head, "No."  He dusted himself off like Travis haven't just threatened to punch him.  "What happened?"

The blond blinked.  It was a possibility he was just overthinking everything.  Maybe Larry had just heard a rumor.  But if he didn't see Travis's scar, then who did?  Travis turned in his seat, his eyes scanning the crowd filtering out of the lunch room.

His eyes landed on Mike and David, leaving the lunchroom as they playfully shoved eachother and laughed.

Of course.  How could he be so stupid?

"Well?"  Sal questioned, snapping Travis away from his glaring.

"I gotta go."  Travis grabbed his belongings.

"But--"

"I'll see you later, Sal."  Travis said over his shoulder before nearly sprinting down the hallway.

It was like he had tunnel vision.  The blond could almost hear the heartbeat in his ears as he clenched his fists and marched down the hallway.  He dropped his books off towards the side of the walkway as several students turned in confusion.

Mike had just barely noticed Travis was approaching him before Travis landed a punch straight across his face.  A solid yelp could be heard from the slightly taller male as he stumbled backwards into his buddy.  Pain vibrated through the blond's knuckles.

But Travis didn't stop there.

He launched himself at the other, landing a few good punches across his face before Travis was shoved against the lockers by the boy's friend.

Immediately, the blond's vision blurred and his ears rung for a few seconds.  Andrew was on top of him, keeping the blond pinned to the lockers as Travis thrashed.

"You fucking asshole!"  The blond shouted, trying to twist his wrists free of the other teenagers' grasp.  "You bitch!  You told him!  You'll pay for this!"

"What comes around goes around, you fucking freak!"

Travis shoved the other off of him, wiping the blood from his cut face with his sleeve before stumbling to his feet quickly.  Within barely moments, his instincts kicked in again and he bolted off, pushing and shoving through the growing crowd of students and teachers.  Before he knew it he heard a rumble of thunder instead of the buzzing murmur of students.  

Kenneth was going to be pissed.

His father was going to be so fucking pissed.

Travis eventually collapsed outside the ministry.  Birds chirped peacefully in the trees around him as the quiet tranquil of the Nockfell suburbs helped him catch his breath.

The blond felt the warmth of tears threatening to fall down his cheeks as he ripped at the grass at his sides; leaving smudges of red blood from his knuckles.

"So fucking stupid..."  His shaking hands moved in a pattern.  First the grass.  Then running through his hair.  Then around his torso.  Grass.  Hair.  Torso.  "Stupid!  Stupid! Stupid!"

Larry was going to tell the others.

Mike and David were going to tell the whole school.

And he just bolted off.

The world felt like it was spinning around him.  His breathing wouldn't slow down.  He could almost hear the angry yelling of his father...the sword against his skin as he would be executed for treason...the look on Sal's face...the satisfied smirk of Larry--

A raindrop hit the top of his head, causing him to jump considerably.

He was suddenly reminded of how his mother used to calm him down when he was upset.  The blond pictured the woman's gentle, forgiving smile as she picked him up and hugged him.  Humming a song Travis forgot the lyrics of as he played with her long brown hair.  He was happy.  Blissfully unaware those moments would be some of his last with her.

It wasn't long until Travis found himself sobbing.

But not the hot, loud, stinging angry tears.

The gentle ones that slid down his darker cheeks and wet his shirt.  Quiet crying noises left the boy's mouth as he hugged his knees.  More rain fell to the ground, wetting his hair and washing the blood off his wounds.

He wanted his mom back.

"Travis?"  A male voice spoke, causing the blond to spring his head up.

"The hell you doing out here?  School doesn't end for another few hours."

Travis tensed considerably.  Shit.  He aggressively wiped the tears from his eyes.  "I'm sorry sir I-I wasn't feeling well so I--"

"Stop."

Kenneth pushed his now-damp hair away from his face as his tired eyes scanned Travis's wounds.  He was still in his usual uniform for church, though just his white dress shirt.  He held his usual blank scowl, though an unknown emotion flashed in his eyes at the sight of Travis's condition.

"Common," Kenneth sighed. "Can't let anyone see you out in the rain like this, come on inside."

Chapter Text

Of course, the silence that followed was immeasurably heavy.

Travis sat on the kitchen floor.  The sink above him dripped rheumatically, backed by the buzzing of the single lightbulb above it.  The light dully illuminated the bare counters and the empty cabinets, making the room feel less like a home and more like a theater set.  A facade.

The house hadn't felt like a home since Travis was blissfully ignorant of what remained in the house's basement.

Travis hugged his knees as he sat on the floor, grinding his teeth together as his mind raced and his father talked with a few of his followers about their next moves.  He couldn't stop thinking about his classmates' futures as he watched his father explain orders.  Did he just send Mike and David to their deaths?  What about Larry?  Would they kill him too, or was he exempt because of the prophecy?  What would have happened if Travis didn't tell Kenneth?

Oh.  That's right.

Travis would be executed.

A knock at the door stirred Travis from his anxious thoughts and he watched Kenneth pause to answer it.  He payed it no mind, his father's familiar line of 'get off my property' followed by a door slam that reverberated through the house was oh so terribly familiar.

Travis sighed and burrowed his head in his knees.

But the knock came again, unfazed.

Kenneth, more than annoyed now, stomped back over and whipped open the door.

"I said leave, boy."  Kenneth barked,  "this is no place for you, especially at this hour of the night."

"I really don't mean to intrude, sir, but Travis told me he'd be at my place tonight for a sleepover three hours ago.  Is he okay?"

Travis nearly jumped to his feet at the sound of the familiar voice.

"He's doing fine, thank you.  No thanks to---"

"Sally face?" Travis inquired, stumbling up behind his father.

"Travis!"  Sal tried to step forward, but flinched backwards when Kenneth blocked him.  "Thank God you're okay!"

"Of course I'm okay, Sal, but now's really not the time--"

"Are you coming tonight?"  Sal basically demanded,  "it's urgent."  He hesitated before adding,  "you need to tell me what happened today, man."

"Tomorrow,"  Kenneth spat.  "He can talk to you tomorrow."

Sal barely lifted a hand to argue when Kenneth slammed the door on his face, and Travis flinched.

The older blond let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before dismissing the robed men and women who still remained in the dining room.  They exchanged some final words before disappearing back into the catacombs.

Travis couldn't stop thinking about his two classmates being murdered in the temple below as he stood.

But even more so, he was appalled that Sal marched right up to Kenneth's doorstep simply to see if he was okay.

"He was worried for me,"  Travis accidentally muttered allowed, blinking at the door.

"Yeah?  Don't get any ideas,"  Kenneth snorted, lighting a cigarette.  "The little faggot's onto me, that's all."

"Don't call him that."

Kenneth whipped around,  "what was that?"

Again, Travis's mouth ran before he could think, "I said don't call him that."

Kenneth's red eyes narrowed at Travis, and the younger blond eventually averted his gaze to the carpet.  Somehow; he hated his father's silence more than his yelling.

To Travis's relief, he changed the subject,  "and you're sure it's only the two who know?"

"Yes, sir,"  Travis lied.  "I found out before they could spread the rumor."

"Right,"  Kenneth ushered his son back to the kitchen.  "Let's get those wounds treated, boy."

"Yes, sir."

The sound of the pouring rain outside failed to calm Travis's raging nerves.  He flinched at the quiet thunder that rumbled throughout the house, and he forced his exhausted legs to follow his father back to the kitchen where he sat at the table.  Blood dripped steadily to the floor, backed by the gentle rhythm of Travis's foot against the ground.

Travis kept his head bowed; awaiting his punishment.  His lecture.  His beating.  Just...something other than silence.  His festering thoughts made him anxious.  The flickering kitchen light made him annoyed.  The shivering in his limbs made him frustrated.  The way Kenneth slammed the door on Sal's face made him angry.

Travis was, in every sense of the word, tired of living this way.

So, so very tired.

And so, so very angry.

Kenneth pulled out a chair next to his son and sat down.  Travis, as per usual, couldn't read his father's expression, his unnaturally red eyes blank and exhausted.  Kenneth reached out to examine Travis's bruised hand to which Travis quickly pulled away.

"Travis."  Kenneth's voice was stern, Travis flinched further into himself.  "Stop being difficult, I'm trying to help."

"But where was this 'trying to help' when I actually needed it?  Huh?"  Travis snapped, his anger finally boiling over, "you're just...tricking me.  I know you."

"Just because I have important matters to deal with doesn't mean I don't care for you, boy."

"Really?"  Travis's voice wavered as he stood, "really?  You care about me?  You say that now?!  After leaving me to take care of myself for however many fucking years with all these rules and guidelines?  You don't care about me.  You said it yourself, I'm just your goddamn backup plan!"

The younger blond's voice cracked as he stood, his fragile composure cracking.  He had his head in his shaking hands.  He said too much, now he couldn't stop.  Kenneth was going to kill him.  Kenneth was going to kill him.

"Do you how hard it is to keep up this act all the time?  How lonely I feel constantly because everytime I get even the slightest chance to have a friend I always fuck it up?  How hard it is to keep this fucking brand hidden?"

"You know the work we're doing is greater than us,"  Kenneth snapped.  "You know neither of us chose to do this---chose to do what ensures eternal peace.  You know I care for you---I just terminated two more teenagers for your safety for God's sake!"

"And you."  The younger blond seethed, his fists tensing up again.  "you're a murderer! And a liar!  You killed Mike and David!  You killed Megan!  You killed Luke!  You killed Sal's mom!  All those innocent people! You--"

Travis froze when Kenneth launched to his feet and grabbed Travis by the front of his shirt, pulling him up to his father's height.

"You do not speak those names in this household."

"Oh yeah?" Tears continued to fall down Travis's face as he nearly laughed,  "what are you gonna do, kill me too?"

 With a lurch, Kenneth launched Travis against the wall. Star's exploded in the younger blond's vision as he fought against his father's fists. He kicked, squirmed, punched, and Kenneth fought back.  The table eventually toppled over and with it came a bottle that shattered on the ground.

 "You're sick!"  Travis continued to wail, finally breaking free and stumbling to the opposite wall,  "you ruined everything!  You took everything!"

"I did what I had to do to protect you!  To protect our plans!"  Kenneth insisted just as Travis, again, stumbled out of reach.  "I tried to teach you, I tried to guild you, but all you're doing is screwing things up!"

Travis tripped over the fallen table and landed in the pile of broken glass, his heart beating out of his ears and his breathing uncontrollable.  He covered his ears with his hands, scooting backwards against the wall and away from his father.  

"Why can't you listen?  Why can't you understand the weight your existence has on the universe?"  Kenneth continued,  "why can't you be normal?"

Kenneth stumbled in front of his son, a kitchen knife now in hand.  A flash of lightning lit up the house as Travis's heart jumped in his throat.  He fumbled for something, anything, before his hand wrapped around something solid.

"And if you can't follow me..."  Kenneth panted, raising the knife.  "Then you're just as useless as the rest of our family."

Travis yelled out and threw the glass bottle in his hand, smashing it against his father's head.

Kenneth stumbled and fell with a crash. The knife clattered to the ground, flashing with Travis's reflection.

Travis stood in shock as the sound of the rain filled his brain with static.  His bloody hands shook as he lowered himself slowly to the ground, overcome by a sense of relief as he laid in a pile of shattered glass.  It was quiet.  Travis's shaking, shivering body wracked with adrenaline.

Kenneth didn't move.

Kenneth didn't move.

That's when the realization hit him.

"No,"  Travis chirped lowly.

Kenneth didn't move.

"No no...."  Travis stumbled up again and crawled to his father's side.  Blood pooled across the carpet.  "Don't, please.  Please I didn't mean it I--"

Travis's bloody hands flew to his mouth, then to his hair, then back to shaking his father's unresponsive body.  Mouth, hair, body.  Mouth, hair, body.

Memories of him crawling into bed with his mother and father after a nightmare filled his mind.  Memories of his father actually smiling and laughing as he made dinner.  Memories of family trips where he could hug his mother anytime he wanted to.  Memories of riding on his father's shoulders.  Memories from before the cult, before his life was flipped.

His last, fleeting chance of a family was dying.

Kenneth was dying.

"Don't go please,"  Travis mumbled, holding his father's head in his hands.  "I-I'll do whatever you want me to.  I'll help out with the sacrifices.  I'll skip school to join meetings, just---I need you here.  I need you."

Travis melted into loud, ugly sobs as he held his father's head and cried into his shirt.  He sobbed so hard his chest and his throat ached for him to stop.  The end of the world may still be years off but right then and there---Travis thought the ground was tearing apart beneath his feet to swallow him whole.

Despite the pain, despite the scars on his back and the things he had seen---he couldn't bare the thought of loosing the closest person he had to family.  

"Travis,"  came his father's slurred voice. Travis felt a hand on his back as his sobbing descended to sniffles, "you've got to leave."

All was silent for a second except for the rain and the sound of Travis's hiccups.  Finally, the blond teen came to again, but he was too tired to remain angry.  Far too exhausted from years of rage and despair.

"...you killed mom." Was all he could manage.

"I know.  I know I did."  Kenneth's face scrunched, but he didn't move.  "But it had to be done."

"Why?"

"She didn't know."  Kenneth answered,  "I couldn't have her know."

Travis finally looked up again.  The rage was back.  A deep ache that made his heart burn in his chest.  It was like Kenneth didn't know what to do himself, Travis had a hard time determining whether or not his father regretted his past choices and what he was going to do.  One minute Travis would think his father was still there somewhere, and the next he wasn't sure he recognized him.

Nevertheless, he wiped his face,  "I know, sir."

"They're coming," Kenneth rasped.  "You've got to leave before they find out you did this."

There was commotion beneath the house.  Footsteps rushed up the steps and would burst into the house any minute.  Travis stumbled to his feet and backed up a few steps, his panic returning.

"You can still call me dad, you know." Kenneth replied, groggily, "I'm still me, Travis.  Even though I know I don't act it someti--"

"I-I won't!"  Travis exclaimed, surprising even himself as he stared down at his beaten, exhausted, wounded father.  He didn't feel the same remorse as he had moments before.  Kenneth stared up at Travis and, as usual, his expression was unreadable.  Red eyes were unevenly dilated and unfocused as they stared right through Travis.

"I won't,"  Travis said again, before bolting out the door and into the pouring rain.

<><>

Travis ran until his legs buckled beneath him, and only then did he find himself on the front doorstep on the apartments.  That was when panic resurfaced in his mind. What if the rest of the Devourers were after him already?  Did they have cameras at the front, too?

Either way, he couldn't let anyone see him like this.

He couldn't endanger Sal with his presence.

But where else could he go?

Travis swallowed, breathing heavily as he wiped the rain from his eyes and stumbled further down the road.  He ran past the apartments, forcing himself to turn his gaze forwards even as the light turned on in Sally's apartment window.  He ran until the darkness of the woods filled his vision, until branches whipped at his face and his legs.

He saw lights in the woods.  Flashlights. 

He heard people calling his name.

Shit.  They were after him.

The cult was going to have him found and killed.

Travis's muscles screamed for rest as he stumbled along the road, following the broken, yellow line that blurred through his blind tunnel vision.  His breath burned in his lungs and his heart pounded in his ears.  He swore he could hear the voices of his ancestors in his head---past Dogmas whispering curses and damning him for abandoning his bleeding father.

The cross necklace he usually kept concealed beneath his sweater bounced against his chest as he bolted, mocking him.  It glinted in the light of the people with flashlights walking in the woods behind him, their yelling and footsteps growing quieter.

Travis eventually stopped once he reached a safe distance away from the people looking for him, leaning over to catch his breath.  His stomach turned with nausea as he screwed his eyes shut.  Sweat, blood, and tears dripped onto the yellow road lines at his feet.

He was safe at last.

"TRAVIS LOOK OUT!"

The blond looked up just in time to see Sal waving desperately to him.  A car horn blared as headlights suddenly whipped around the corner.

Everything went dark before Travis's head hit the ground.