Archive of Our Own ^beta

Things at home get better or worse depending on the day. 

Sometimes, Kenneth Phelps will be almost happy to see him, enjoying the company of his son even as he vocally abuses him. Insults and complaints are easier to bear than fists, so Travis accepts them, allowing his father to spit and preach at him to his heart's content. Not that either of them are ever content in this place. 

Kenneth Phelps' anger is like a cloud of smoke that fills the house, choking the lungs of anyone who dares to enter. Travis can only pray the fire burns low.

Today is one of those "better" days; his father shouts at him for his laziness, his idiocy, his whatever the fuck else Kenneth is pissy about today, but mercifully doesn't beat him shitless. He hasn't even cuffed him yet, just griped (and griped and griped…). Travis tunes him out usually, nodding respectfully and apologizing whenever it seems appropriate. For some reason, though, the energy has completely left him to do any of that. 

Instead, he miserably pokes at his microwave TV dinner, silently soaks in every horrible thing his father says, and terribly misses the taste of the homemade macaroni Ashley made with him last weekend. 

Babysitting Ben was a little weird - Travis isn't good with kids (or anybody), but it's kind of cool to spend time in a house as lively as Ash's. Plus, Ash knows how to cook, unlike Travis. She's way cooler than he ever gave her credit for. 

Because of his father, he fought to see her as some loser artsy dyke - and fought even harder to see that as a bad thing. The fight was won for a while, but now he's fighting in the other direction. And since she's amazing, Ash helps him cook when he's over there, teaching him recipes step by step, even though he's still an asshole.

"Cooking is more art than science," he remembers her telling him with a smile. "That's why Todd can never get the cheese right."

He's so grateful for her friendship. He wishes he were with her right now and not breathing in the stench of Kenneth's rank deodorant.

"And anyways," Kenneth continues, shoveling pre-packaged crap into his own mouth. "You certainly won't be needing that money. It's not like you're going to college."

"What? I mean, sir?"

Kenneth glares, mouth curled to the side. "You need to learn how to listen, boy."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"As I was saying… I finally got a hold of the college fund your mother set up for you. It was tricky business, since it's all still under her name, but I got it in the end. And since you won't be going to college, I'm using it for the church."

His mother? Travis hasn't heard from nor seen hair of his mother in… he doesn't even know how long. Kenneth has certainly never brought her up. She just isn't here. No pictures, no memories. It's almost like she never existed at all.

"I don't understand." Travis blurts. "What do you mean I'm not going to college?"

Kenneth stares at him for a moment. He doesn't look angry, but there's something behind his eyes that's dark and intelligent in a way he so rarely deigns to be. "I have bigger plans for you, my son. Bigger plans for everybody. There's no point in playing at anything else."

That shocks Travis into silence. At least if his jaw is on the ground, he can't say anything else stupid. A horrible anger is building in him and he really doesn't need to disturb the peace right now, not with Kenneth looking at him with the eyes of a different man. 

Still, he almost can't believe it. He's just learned his mother left him something - a mother he has almost no memory of beyond a faint longing and the distant imprint of warmth - and now his asshole father is telling him he can't have it? That he can't even go to fucking college?

College would probably be his only ticket out of this dump. Then again, with all his friends here, where would he even want to go? And Sal… Their relationship is new and scary, but already, Travis can feel a tether keeping him here in Nockfell, like a heavy line between his heart and Sal's hand. Whether he likes it or not, Sal anchors him to the earth now.

When he takes another bite of his meal, he finds it tastes like nothing. It fills his mouth, he fights to swallow it, it fills his gut.

He excuses himself to his room as soon as he can.

*

Kenneth is in a good mood come the next day as well, so Travis leaves the house on Monday morning with two clear eyes and only old bruises. He tucks his thumbs under the straps of his backpack and enjoys his long walk to school, focusing on the changing weather and keeping the discussion from yesterday far out of his mind.

It isn't easy, but Travis has gotten very good at not thinking about things. Practice makes perfect, after all.

The weather is cold (Travis' favorite), so he arrives at school shivering and smiling. When he sees Sally and the gang waiting for him by the door, he smiles wider.

Everyone else is shivering too, but they all look much less happy about it than he probably does. Still, everyone waves excitedly to him, their faces brightening at the sight of him. Even Todd gives him a warm expression. Ignoring the way his heart aches, he shoos them all inside, leaning shyly into side-hugs as he scolds them for waiting outside.

"You could have waited by the door inside," he gripes at them, his stomach in silly butterflies. 

Ash laughs as he pushes her further inside - or as he attempts to, anyways. His hands are flat on her back, but her heels are digging into the floor. Maple comes to his rescue, squatting down to push Ash's legs, making her squeal with laughter.

"Hey - that's cheating!"

"Your face is cheating!" He gives her a final push, grinning when she starts laughing so hard she's snorting. "Seriously, though. There's no point in your fingers falling off just to greet me."

"You won't get any argument here," says Chug, who stands from his place sitting against the wall. "No offense, Travis, you're cool now, but I came inside early. I was freezing my balls off!"

That makes Travis laugh: a real, honest-to-God laugh. It's the first time he's managed it since Friday. "You and I are kindred spirits, Chug. I'm only sorry I didn't see it sooner."

Chug tosses him a candy bar, a habit he's picked up since learning that Travis can't eat breakfast at home. "It was definitely your loss."

Ash laughs at that too, elbowing Travis under the ribs. "Don't listen to him - Chug only gives candy to people he really likes."

"Is that so?" Travis turns and raises an eyebrow at Chug. "Is this a token of your affection? Of your devotion? Of your deep, undying love for me?"

Chug scoffs. "It's my last Chunch Nougat bar is what it is, so you better enjoy it." He shakes his head then, sighing deeply. "The things I'll do for my friends."

Smiling again, Travis thanks him and begins to open it. His hands are already a little shaky from the effort of the walk to school, but he thankfully isn't dizzy yet. Eating nothing but candy in the morning will make him sick, but it's better than fainting - which he did a good three times in the mornings before telling his friends why. 

When Maple jokingly opens her mouth for a bite, he happily feeds her the first piece. The happy surprise on her face is worth it.

Still laughing at whatever Larry said, Sal suddenly wraps his arms around Travis from behind. He's so short that the nose of his mask sticks into Travis' back. It's a bit uncomfortable, like a rock stuck in his shoe, but the hug itself is as dream-like as always.

It's such a wonderful feeling, his chest so warm against Travis' back even through layers of clothing, but that familiar fear rises up like hot bile in his throat. He smiles through it. He gets held so rarely; he'll take what he can get.

Sal pulls away quickly enough, which puts his heart at as equal rest as unrest, and smiles up at him. There's no better sight on this earth to Travis than those pretty blue eyes squinting up at him. Seeing Sal happy is better than anything.

Travis is happy too. He tells himself that. His friends are around him, smiling and laughing, cold and sleepy and not quite ready to face the day, and he's happy.

Last night's talk weighs heavily on his mind.

To his right, Maple and Ash laugh with Chug. Behind him, Larry gossips excitedly with Neil and Todd. Beside him, Sal's warmth radiates like Travis has never felt before.

Fingers poking out of his too-long sleeve, Sal's hand catches his. A lifeline. A line tethering him to the earth. "Travis? Are you okay?"

Travis takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. If he focuses, he almost thinks he can feel Sal's entire body, map the shape of him from fingertip to fingertip, from head to toe. It's calming, following the imaginary lines of Sal's body.

"Yes," he answers, feeling it suddenly to be true. "Yes, I'm okay."

"Good." He presses his mask into Travis's shoulder, his prosthetic nose much less painful against the plush of Travis' coat. "Muah!"

Immediately, Travis' face bursts into a flaming blush. Oh, God. Too cute! "Um. M-Muah!"

The laughing from Chug and the girls goes suddenly quiet. Then the three giggle as if they're trying to hide it, like a group of gossiping children. Which is exactly what they are, come to think of it.

Sal doesn't let go of his hand. Travis doesn't let go either.

*

Despite his best efforts, Travis finds his mood just will not improve.

It sucks, but what his father said won't leave his mind. He can't stop thinking about his mother. He can't stop feeling trapped.

He hates Kenneth Phelps. He hates Phelps Ministry. He hates that stupid church and every moment he's ever wasted in it! He hates sitting in the same fucking spot every Sunday, every Wednesday, and praying to God to take him somewhere else. He hates-

"Whoa, Trav," Sal's hand gently touches his, careful against the veins peeking out through the skin. It's wrapped so violently around his cafeteria fork that his knuckles hurt. "You're gonna break that thing in half!"

He looks down at the straining white plastic. He feels it digging into his skin. "Oh, right. Sorry."

"You've been a little off today… Did something happen?"

The others have stopped their conversations at the commotion, leaving an odd pocket of quiet in the cafeteria when they turn their attentions to him in worry. Part of him hates that it always has to be a big scene whenever he's pissed or upset, but another, traitorous part is just glad to know someone cares. It's big and new and terrifying, but there's something lovely about being cared for that he doesn't want to lose.

Larry's hand falls on his shoulder. The weight of it is almost more than Travis can bear.

"Ugh. You guys are total worrywarts. It's no big deal."

"But that confirms that there is a deal." Todd raises an eyebrow, meeting Travis' eyes as he pushes his glasses up his nose. "You know you can tell us when something is wrong, Travis."

Worrying her lip absently, Ash tucks her hair behind her ear. "Yeah, we're friends now. We're here for you."

"Yeah, man. What they said."

"Thanks Larry. Everybody." Travis sighs. "Okay, but it's nothing. It just sucks."

"All ears," whispers Maple. He meets her eyes and can't help but relax.

"My mom apparently set up this college fund thing for me and now my dad is using that money for the church. I'll never see a cent of it."

Larry, Sal, Ash, and Todd all exchange looks . It's a familiar look; it's the look that means they're going to play sleuth or ghost hunter or whatever the hell else they do. Sal promises he doesn't want to know about it - but Neil says that Todd says the same thing to him. He understands not wanting Neil in the know, since the guy's sweet as a freakin' button, but Travis isn't exactly delicate. (And, honestly, neither is Neil.) 

It's not exactly the time for that kind of look - don't they see he's baring his heart, here? What gives?

Travis huffs, but continues, "He said- He said he has plans for me, so I can't go to college. College was pretty much my one ticket to freedom, so I'm a little pissed is all."

"What the hell?" Chug puts down his sandwich. "That's fucked up. Can he even do that?"

Travis sighs again. At least Chug can read a room. "I don't even know."

With his hand in Sal's, he should feel better, but he doesn't. For the first time, he wants to untangle their fingers for a reason other than fear. The gang are still exchanging looks, meeting eyes like they want to pull away for one of their dorky huddles.

"Travis?" Todd asks. He tries to keep his voice neutral, but he sounds so damn interested, like this is a case file and not his life. "You haven't spoken of your mother before. Is she around?"

"Todd, dude!"

"It's fine, Larry." It isn't fine - it's kind of rude, actually, but Larry's care makes it easier for Travis to suck it up and answer. "Uh. No, my mom's not around. I don't even remember her. Dad doesn't bring her up, so I'm not sure if she's alive or dead or what…"

Todd blinks in surprise. "Do you have a name?"

"Um- what?"

"I could look into it for you."

Travis scuffs his shoe against the cafeteria floor. "That's weird. You're being weird. Listen, if she's not around, then either she's dead or she doesn't wanna be." He shrugs. "And if she left, I'm not pissed about it. Kenneth Phelps is fucking evil. I'd have run too, no matter who I left behind."

"Damn… Heavy shit, man." Larry rubs a hand over his back, patting twice. Right now, he's about the only one not on Travis' shit list. "My- Um. My dad left, if you ever wanna talk about it."

"Oh… Thanks, Larry." Gently, so he knows its affectionate, he shoves Larry with his shoulder.

Larry shoves back. "No problem, dude."

Now it's Ash's turn to play interrogator. "When he says he's using it for the church, what does he mean?"

Travis shrugs. He didn't really think about that, now that she mentions it. "Fuck if I know. Whatever a preacher usually uses donations for, like paying for the building or new pews or something."

"Or pocketing it," mutters Sal.

"You're so anti-establishment. It's hot."

That makes Sal laugh; evidence of how truly fucked he is, the sound rids Travis of nearly all his confused anger. It also breaks the tension enough that Chug picks up his sandwich. The familiarly disgusting sight of Chug chewing with his mouth open soothes Travis' nerves even further.

He turns to Ash and shrugs again. "I think he uses money to recruit, mostly. Fliers and manifestos aren't cheap, especially with how many copies he makes." Travis doesn't mention that he burns most of those when his father isn't around. "He's also been doing a lot of basement work, but I'm not allowed down there. Well, not yet."

The look they exchange now is frantic and shocked.

"Oh- Come the fuck on! What the hell are all these looks about?"

The gang cringes back guiltily, with Chug and Maple left glancing around in what Travis thinks might be confusion. Larry coughs into his fist and Todd begins to clean his glasses.

Squeezing his hand under the table, Sal sighs. "I'm sorry, Travis. I'd tell you, but you're safer in the dark for now."

"Nobody is safer in the dark, asshat. Just tell me what's going on." He glares around the table, first at Ash, then at Larry. He meets eyes with Maple. "Are you in on this?"

"No," she admits. "This is way more interesting than usual lunchtime chatter though."

"Glad my shitty life entertains you."

"Thanks. It's inspiring to see someone so willing to suffer for their art."

A barking laugh claws its way up and out of him. "You're fucking mean! Funny, though. I'm guessing Chug's innocent too, then?"

"Yup. I'm the sweet one."

"I'd believe it."

Maple laughs. "Okay, okay. Seriously, though. Is this more ghost stuff?"

"There's no ghosts in my church." Travis snaps. "Just normal homophobic weirdos."

Larry scratches the side of his neck. "Well, here's the thing…"

"Larry!"

"Sorry, Sal. He deserves to know."

"Damn right. Now spill."

The four look between each other again, then exchange nods. Travis rolls his eyes.

"Come home with us after school. It'll be easier to just show you."

Travis glances nervously between the lot of them and they all glance nervously back. This is hardly satisfying, but he doesn't think he'll be getting much more out of them before then.

He can play by their rules for now.

"Okay," he says. "But only because my dad's been in a good mood lately!"

*

The bus ride to Addison Apartments is always a good one, even with sticky bus heat and dirty leather smell clouding the air the entire drive. There's just something comforting about knowing he's not going home. Though they pass the ministry on their way to the apartments, he doesn't have to set foot inside, and that's good enough for him.

The usual going-home-with-Sal excitement is accompanied by a nervous energy that drags his mood down. Add that to the general shittiness he's carried with him today and Travis is feeling quite sour.

They don't talk a whole lot. Sal sighs wistfully that he wishes Ash were with them, but Larry waves it off, saying it's best she not be forced to see it again after last time.

"And anyways," Larry says more to the window than Sal. "She'll be by later if her parents give the okay."

Though Travis asks politely (and again, impolitely), they won't tell him what happened that Ashley is better off at home. They just keep brushing it off, saying he doesn't want to know, as if they know jackshit about what he wants.

It's annoying; they're acting like he's going to fall apart if they tell him too much. Chug and Larry are worrywarts, it's in their nature, but to be getting this treatment from his sort-of-boyfriend? Travis is a little steamed. A lot steamed, if he lets himself feel it.

Still, when they arrive at Addison's, Todd and Sal walk beside him, Sal's arm warm against his, while Larry leads the way. It's usually Sal who takes the front, so it's strange to see Larry charge ahead so confidently. Still, he's doing it for Travis' benefit, so he's not about to complain.

Larry guides them through the now-familiar entrance way and to the elevator, which always kind of smells like feet no matter how often poor Ms. Johnson cleans it, and presses '2'.

"Are we going to Todd's room?" Travis asks curiously. He can't imagine anything creepy being in there, unless Todd counts.

"No," Todd answers for him. "Mrs. Packerton was my neighbor. We're going to her apartment."

Travis jumps at the name. "The teacher that died? Why are we going there? Isn't that kind of disrespectful?"

Sal turns towards him. "You're one to talk about disrespect?"

"I'm an expert, Sally Face. When it comes to disrespect, one might even say I'm a professional."

Larry shakes his head solemnly. "Get your laughs out now. You won't be laughing when we're up there."

The elevator opens to the second floor, making a tiny ding! that has Todd flinching. When he steps out of the elevator, Travis can see him shaking. He's usually so composed… It's almost weird to see him emote so physically. The closest thing to a true reaction Travis has ever seen from the guy has to be his dopey, dewy-eyed stare at Neil.

Seeing those steady hands shake is definitely far more worrying than doe eyes.

"Are you okay?" Travis murmurs to him. He can't keep his voice from carrying to the others, but he can make it clear to Todd that he cares.

Though he doesn't look okay, Todd still nods. "Sorry, yes. It's just frightening to think of what was happening so close to my apartment. To kids my age, nonetheless."

"To kids- What? What the fuck does that mean?" He swallows hard. He's always liked scary stories, but pranks will never not suck. "You better not be pulling my leg with all this shit."

"We aren't," Larry assures him again. "This shit's serious and it is fucked up. You can turn back if you want, but I think if you want to know about Mrs. Packerton and the secret basement and the stuff that might be going on under your church, then you should. You have a right to know."

Sal takes a shivering breath. "I'm not happy about this. I still think you should leave this to us, Travis."

"I don't need you to protect me, Sal Fisher." 

Larry hisses a sharp inhale through his teeth. "Full name. You're in trouble now, lover boy."

With an unamused huff, Travis crosses his arms across his chest. "He will be if he doesn't stop with the knight in armor bullshit. Neil has a gentle heart, so I understand wanting to protect him, but me? You see the fucked up shit I live with, right? I don't need you to protect me. I'm stronger than that."

"Oh, Travis… It's not about strength. I just- want you to be okay. I worry about you. All the time."

"Well…" He can't help it - he deflates, the anger leaving him like hot air escaping a balloon. "Don't. Okay? I've made it this far, so I'm going to keep making it."

Sal is quiet for a moment before nodding. "Yeah… Yeah, you are. And maybe it'll be safer for you to know this stuff anyways."

"Knowledge is power," Todd pipes in. He still sounds a little like he's about to lose his lunch.

"Man, that's what I've been saying!" Larry shakes his head. "Nobody ever listens to the pothead."

"Whoa, you smoke weed?"

"One thing at a time, Travis."

Travis huffs again. "Whatever." 

He follows behind Larry past Todd's apartment to the neighboring door. Todd is starting to really stand out against the yellow hallway wallpaper, growing paler and greener in the gills with every step. Larry turns the handle to 201, which isn't even locked. 

The door swings open and a part of Travis locks up, frozen.

"Wait, I mean- Holy shit, is this allowed? This woman went to my church, Larry, I don't think I can rummage through her apartment."

Larry pointedly meets Sal's gaze.

"Okay," Sal says. "He definitely needs to know."

Travis huffs in frustration again, before looking back at Todd, who hasn't stepped any closer to Mrs. Packerton's place. "Todd? You're looking paler than usual, buddy."

Todd swallows hard. "Queasy from the elevator," he lies badly.

"If you want to sit this one out, it's okay…" Travis gestures to Todd's apartment. "Get some free hugs from your hippie parents. Or Bob."

"Bob gives the best hugs," he jokes back weakly. "Sal, Larry, am I required any longer?"

"Always, man. Go talk to your mom, though. We'll take it from here."

"Are you certain?"

"Of course, Todd." Sal turns his head like a cat, his go-to sign of affection. "Go rest."

"Thank you. If you need me, you know where to find me."

And then Todd disappears into his apartment, leaving Travis with only half of the conspiracy squad. Travis hopes he actually gets a hug from his parents. He sure looks like he needs one. He'd say Todd looked like he saw a ghost, but Todd assured him that seeing ghosts was fairly uneventful. Weirdo.

"Alright," Larry sighs. "Let's keep moving."

As they move to finally follow Larry through the door, Sal reaches out and grabs Travis' hand. Usually the gesture would make him blush, but something about Sal's clammy, almost fearful grip keeps his gut from filling with butterflies. Instead, he wonders again just what exactly he's gotten himself into.

The answer doesn't come immediately, though the question grows more pressing the further they walk. The trek through Mrs. Packerton's old rooms is creepy as hell. There are stains that Travis doesn't want to think about littering the floor and, though there's an awful odor that reeks of human shit, there's also a more subtle scent hiding beneath it: a sickly sweet smell that sticks to every surface. The stench reminds him of the time a mouse died beneath the bathroom sink. Soft like floral perfume and thick like rotten meat.

He's starting to wonder if Sal was right to keep him in the dark. A distant part of him ponders what Neil is doing tonight - and envies him for whatever it might be. Homework? Laundry? TV? Whatever it is, it's gotta be better than the dark, mysteriously stained apartment their dead teacher never came home to.

Larry opens one of the bedroom doors, looks inside, and shudders. "They didn't take it," he says. "The cult took just about everything except for that horrible machine."

"...Cult?" Travis swallows. "Machine?" He thinks about how great it must be to be Todd, chilling with his goldfish. Getting hugs from his mom.

"Just… come inside." Larry disappears behind the door.

We've already come all this way, he thinks wryly. It's easier than acknowledging the fear gnawing at the back of his neck (or the way Sal's black-painted nails are suddenly digging into his hand).

Against his better judgement, Travis willfully enters the room.

Inside is… a machine, true to form, but it isn't like any machine Travis has ever seen. It looks grotesque. It looks like something for a TV show or scary movie. It has a thing attached that looks like a meat grinder.

"This is where Mrs. Packerton would bring her victims," Larry says, like those words make sense in that order. Travis almost wants to laugh, but the haunted lines of Larry's face tell him that this is no joke.

"Mrs. Packerton-" He shakes his head, confused. "Mrs. Packerton was an old lady. She wore ugly old lady dresses and came to church way too much and taught math class -"

"And she was part of the cult that controls Nockfell. We don't know much about them yet, but we think they call themselves the Devourers of God."

Sal is eerily silent. Travis whips his head around to check that he's still there, still okay, and finds him staring at the wall to the right. Travis follows his gaze and then quickly looks away.

"You remember those Missing Persons posters that were all around the school?"

"How could I forget? Those things were haunting." Travis is running out of breath more quickly than he's used to. He tries to steady it, doesn't want these two seeing him hyperventilate after the fuss he made. "I wasn't sure whether to be worried for those kids or jealous they got away."

"Believe me, what happened to those kids isn't an enviable fate. I don't know if she hunted those kids down in their homes or if she found them while they were homeless and desperate and lured them here, but what we do know is-"

"Larry, no, what he doesn't know-"

"Sal, you can't protect him forever!" Larry's voice has never been this loud - this angry. "He needs to be able to protect himself and he can't if he doesn't know what's going on!"

Sal's hand grows vice-like and painful. "Do you think I don't know that? That doesn't mean he needs to know every detail!"

Travis looks between them in horror. Sal and Larry never fight. He does not look at the machine. He does not look at the wall. "Wait, 'hunted them down'? Are you actually trying to tell me that our math teacher killed people?"

"Yes." Larry puts a hand up to keep Sal from arguing. Sal puts a hand over his prosthetic, rubbing his ceramic lips anxiously. "You have to know this, Travis. I swear, I'm not punking you, this isn't revenge, I'm not being a dick. This is real. This is really fucking real."

"Oh- Okay." 

He can't control it: he glances down at a dark brown stain in the carpet, just beneath the wall Sal was staring at. Years of cleaning his own blood from the carpet has taught him this much: that stain is the kind of brown that was once a deep, dark, coppery red. It stretches from the floor to wall, up and up, shaped like a hand reaching out in the dark.

"Okay. Holy shit. Holy shit."

Sal pulls his hand out of Travis', leaving it suddenly cold and empty, and hooks his fingers into the eye holes of his mask. He looks queasy. He looks like a fucking wreck.

Larry takes a deep breath. It doesn't seem to steady him. "Mrs. Packerton used this machine to butcher people. As in, meat shop butcher. She was selling the flesh of those missing kids as meat to the school."

"What the fuck?! WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Kim, the lunch lady, said it was only used in the bologna." If it's even possible, Travis feels his stomach drop even further. He feels… dizzy. Off-kilter. This has to be a bad dream. "And only the meat, since the bones and shit go downstairs to the temple. Ever since Mrs. Packerton's death, we haven't found any evidence of human remains in the food, but-"

"I loved that bologna." It's hard to breathe, suddenly. He can taste vomit in the back of his throat. "Be- Because it tasted like something familiar. Like something I used to eat as a kid…"

A strange thing happens then. The world grows dim and streaky, like he's traveling in a rocket, further and further away from the sun. And then he's asleep.

*

"-God… Trav…" Something is shaking him. Is it an earthquake? "...Plea…. ake up…!"

His head hurts. 

"Travis, please wake up."

"Ugh…" There's a horrible ringing in his ears, like a chorus is screaming in his head. "Just a few more minutes."

"Oh, thank God. Thank God you're okay."

Travis doesn't have the energy to correct them. "Can I go back asleep?"

"No, honey. You hit your head going down. We have to check you for a concussion."

"...Concuss…?"

And then he's being sat up, pulled heavily from his laying position to a sitting one. His lunch seems to be following along for the ride.

"Oh- Ugh! Sick!"

"I'll get Larry out of here." Sorry, Larry.

"Good call, Ash. Todd and I will take it from here."

"Want me to bring back some towels?"

"Yes, please. I'll clean it up, though, don't worry."

Ash… Todd… Does that mean that's Sal's voice? Larry is gone now because Travis hurled, so it can't be him… And it sure sounds like Sal, his voice all velvety and handsome and so, so gentle. Always so gentle.

Travis squints his eyes against the blinding light trying to invade his eyelids. "Ouch…" His head hurts so bad. His mouth tastes gross. He wants to lay back down. This sucks.

"Travis, baby? Are you lucid?"

"This sucks."

"He's lucid," says Todd.

He sounds close by - and his hands are too warm against Travis' back and chest, still touching him. He tries to lay back down, but Todd's hands are still in the way.

"Help me hold him up. I need to check the dilation of his eyes."

"His eyes?" Travis asks. 

"If you're concussed, I'll be able to tell by the way your pupils react to light."

"That's cool," he groans. "Hey, why is Ash here? Isn't she at home?"

"We called her," says Sal's voice. "You fainted and I got worried. She wanted to be here to tell you about the cult anyways, remember?"

"The cult-" Travis shivers. "Oh, Jesus. Oh, dear Christ, forgive me."

A light is shined in his eyes. It reminds him he needs to focus for Todd, so they can tell if he's concussed. It reminds him he needs to focus in order to see.

He squirms away from the light and gazes up at Sal. The room around him is methodical, but messy, with notes just about everywhere on the wall. Haloed by newspaper clippings, Sal looks every bit the strange kind of beautiful that Travis has always been obsessed with. His hair is a mess, though, one pigtail completely out of its tie. The hair-tie is probably around his wrist, Travis thinks. He looks so cute with a hair-tie around his wrist.

"I want to make you a bracelet," Travis says. Nothing occultish-looking. "Were you pulling again?"

If the jumping topics confuses Sal, he doesn't show it. "Uh- Yes." He clears his throat and grows quiet. "Don't worry about that, though."

Travis nods slowly. He doesn't have the room to worry about a whole lot more right now anyways. "I'm sorry I made you pull."

"You didn't, baby. Mrs. Packerton's place just bugs me out. Usually I can fight it, but… I really hate that place."

A sound escapes Travis that he rarely hears from anyone, let alone himself. It's like the sound a kicked dog makes, brought down an octave. Just the thought of that place - of that horrible, dreadful woman - makes him sick. That sickness soaks through his skin, into his bones, into his soul. It won't ever leave.

"Me too," he chokes.

And then Sal's hand is in his. It isn't okay - knowing what he knows now, Travis isn't sure things will ever truly be okay. A part of him still doesn't even want to believe any of this is real at all. But Sal's hand is in his. His fingers are calloused from playing guitar, all soft palms and rough fingertips, his nails are clipped short, glossy from a practiced polishing, and his touch is so gentle, like tenderness is all he knows.

Sal's hand is in his. Even if this is all real - even if things are never okay again - this one fact remains certain. And Travis isn't letting go.

*

Once Travis is back to himself a little more, they start telling him everything they know about the cult.

They all sit cross-legged on the floor of Todd's room, close enough to talk without being heard through the walls, and fill Travis in on every little detail. They tell him about the temple beneath the apartments, about the Red-Eyed Demon, about anything they think might be related to the cult at all. The police, the other teachers - they tell him they think his father's ministry is involved, possibly even the current meeting place.

"The basement you mentioned might lead to the temple," Todd explains. "Or be a different underground temple altogether."

It's overwhelming. It's just all so much.

The more he hears, though, and the more it all sinks in, the more he finds himself glad to know it. As scary as it is to think about a group of shadowy figures controlling Nockfell (possibly even more than Nockfell), there's a comfort in no longer being in the dark. He feels more prepared for what's to come, especially with his father's cryptic mention of plans for him still ringing in his head.

Knowledge is power, Todd said. Travis thinks he agrees.

He's glad to know what he knows now. Except for the bit about-

"The bologna."

Not meeting Travis' eyes, Todd swallows hard. "Yes. It was hard for me as well, and I wasn't even there when these three found it."

"It was still… in use." Ash says. "It was so horrible…"

"They were just meat." Travis grabs Sal's hand tightly... 

"Don't feel bad about puking, man. I did too."

Travis attempts to wrangle his face into a half-smile for Larry. "You didn't faint though."

"I don't think that was about what happened tonight, though…" Larry leans back against Todd's wall, looking thoughtful. "You said something before you passed out. Something about the bologna reminding you of your childhood…"

"That's a bit cliche," Travis attempts to joke.

"With your father potentially having ties to the cult, it might make sense." Travis shoots Sal a surprised look, but his boyfriend just shrugs. "I don't like that he might have been making you eat-" Travis squeezes his eyes shut. Sal blessedly doesn't say it. "But, y'know. It's possible."

"And most kids got sick after eating the bologna," Larry chimes in. "You never did."

It's true. He'd sometimes get emotional, sad about those days back when his father would eat real meals with him and smile at him and tell him he would do great things, but he never got sick - at least, not with the bologna. 

Come to think of it, Travis did used to be a sick kid. He would get food poisoning or the flu pretty much all the time. His dad was always so kind to him then, smoothing his sweaty hair back, telling him to power through, that things would reveal themselves in time…

"Oh, Christ…"

"Travis, are you well? You're beginning to look ashy again."

"No, I'm Ash-y."

It works - Travis laughs, a sound more hysterical than amused. Still, it helps. Todd admonishes Ash for her insensitive response, but Travis shoots her a grateful, if shaky grin.

"Sorry," he says. His teeth are chattering. Why are his teeth chattering? "I'm just- struggling to cope with the fact that I'm a fucking cannibal."

"For what it's worth, you're doing very well." Todd scooches closer across the floor, a movement so mundane and funny-looking that Travis feels the sudden desire to grab him and never let go. "I'm very impressed. And - like the others - I am here for you."

Travis gives into his impulse. He wraps his arms tightly around Todd's shoulders, essentially throwing himself into the other boy's lap.

Todd awkwardly rubs his back. "There, there," he says. "You aren't alone."

"I'm a fucking cannibal," he cries. And he is crying, he realizes with a jolt. Fat tears roll down his cheeks and his chest shakes with sobs. He isn't sure how it began, but he's weeping like a sick baby.

Suddenly, the others are there. 

Ash is behind him, laying over him like a cape, probably putting way more wait on Todd than the guy can handle. Larry is on Todd's other side, his long arms wrapped around him and Ash both. And Sal is there, too - his ceramic nose pressing into Travis' skin is starting to become more comforting than uncomfortable. Sal's face is pressed just above his ribs, nearly in his armpit, his arms squeezed in between everyone else to wrap around his middle.

"You aren't alone," Ash echoes.

"We're here, man," Larry whispers.

"I know it doesn't seem like it now," Sal says. "But it's going to be okay."

Travis cries harder. No matter how hard he tries to stop, it just keeps coming. He focuses on the warmth of all the bodies around him - the living, breathing bodies of people who love him - but there's still this piece inside of him that's so, so cold. That's the part that shakes him now, he thinks. It makes him sob, makes his teeth chatter, makes his entire chest ache. It's been inside him a long time, all alone and unseen, but it's never made him cry like this before.

At some point, despite the gang's gentle hushes and rhythmic rocking, his cries still grow so loud as to attract the attention of Todd's mother.

The doorknob rattles and then Mrs. Morrison is suddenly there. 

"Oh! You poor, beautiful child…" Travis can't quite see her through his wet eyes, but he can see the shape of her coming closer. She kneels beside the group, puts a hand on Ash's back. "Todd, what happened? Are any of you hurt?"

"Sorry, Mom. We just-" Todd stops to think, rubbing his hand absently over Travis' back while he chooses his words. The strain of everyone's weight on him shows in his voice. "Well, we went into Mrs. Packerton's apartment. She's- She's the teacher that died last semester."

"I understand…" A moment passes, Mrs. Morrison taking a deep breath. "Some people are touched by death more than others. I know it may seem impossible to bear this new loss, you sweet children, but there are greater things in play."

Travis is still having a hard time swallowing his sobs, even as the shame of crying in front of a near-stranger permeates him, but beneath him, Todd relaxes. "I believe it's more that he's blaming himself, Mom."

A hand is wiping his tears away suddenly, warm against his wet, cold cheeks. He blinks owlishly at the hand - then at the woman it belongs to. That clears his sight up enough for him to finally see the sad, smiling face of Mrs. Morrison.

"I know it can be easier, sometimes," she says. "To think that you're the thing that did this. That it's your fault and if you only behave better that it won't happen anymore. Sadly, there are many things out of our control. Death, decay, suffering… These are just a few of those things."

Her hand moves from his face and up into his hair, soothing the tangles that must have been caused by his fainting and lying on Todd's bed. Slowly, he finds himself relaxing. The cold piece inside him is still there, but he can feel the warmth of his friends a little deeper. He can feel the warmth of Mrs. Morrison too.

"Whatever you're thinking," she whispers. She's close now and she smells strange and new, like hand-made soap and whatever scent lingers behind the school. "Stop thinking it. It isn't your fault, silly pinch-faced boy. You're just so cute, you look like a shrimp. Little shrimp face! Hehe."

Beneath him, Todd laughs - really laughs. It shakes him so hard that Travis has to let go or risk falling on top of him. Everyone finally removes themselves from the group hug to stare in unison at Todd, all eyes open wide in shock.

"Sorry," he gasps. "She was doing so well - and then she- she-"

He falls back into his fit, tears beginning to roll down his face instead.

"This guy's crazy," Travis mutters. He rubs absently at his still-wet face.

"It's good to see my little flower so happy," Mrs. Morrison breathes, voice dreamy. "He's always so serious."

Todd gasps in a breath, snorting so loudly that it probably hurts his throat.

"Real serious," replies Travis. He laughs a little before turning to the older woman next to him. "Thanks, Mrs. Morrison. What you said really helped."

"Oh, I do my best." She ruffles his hair, but she does it so gently and lazily it feels more like a really long pat. "Now, who wants brownies? Ray and I's special recipe."

Todd takes a deep breath, holding his gut. "Mother," he gasps. "You can't give weed to my friends."

"Pot brownies!" Larry shouts. "Fuck yes!"

Larry is out the door before anyone can so much as say his name.

Todd breathes out another laugh. "Guess Larry's going to be rid of his stress soon enough." 

"Must be nice," grumbles Travis. He doesn't blame the guy, though. He hopes Larry enjoys those well-earned space cakes.

Moving to stand on wobbly legs, Todd holds a hand out to Ash. "Let's leave Sal and Travis to talk for a minute. You can help me keep my mother from giving Larry anything too illegal."

"The law too often gets in the way of joy," Mrs. Morrison complains.

Ash lets Todd pull her up. "She's not wrong. Travis, if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask, okay?"

Travis nods. "Thanks, guys. Sorry again for fainting. And puking in your room."

"It's fine, Travis." Todd grabs his mother's hand, leading her out of the bedroom. When he reaches the door, he turns back to say, "You're allowed to have a hard time, you know. And you're allowed to show it when you are."

"He's right," Mrs. Morrison says smilingly. "My wise little bumblebee! Hehe!"

With a final smile, Ash closes the door behind them, leaving Travis and Sal alone.

He's kind of embarrassed that Todd knew he needed some Sal time, but he figures he probably knows all about needing his boyfriend. Neil is a great hugger and probably a gold-medalist cuddler. If Todd struggles even half as much as he seems to with the bologna incident, then Neil is probably the one he turns to in his times of need.

Travis turns to Sal.

Immediately, Sal is reaching out for him. "Are you okay? That's a stupid question, but-"

"It's alright, Sal." He lays his hand over Sal's, to placate himself as much as his boyfriend. "I- have no idea. An injured body needs rest, but… What do you do for an injured soul?"

"I think that might need rest too."

Though it isn't funny, Travis makes a sound like laughter. "There's not a whole lot of time for resting my soul. Especially now that I know about the cult…"

"I know what you mean. I'm tired all the time, but when I sleep, I have nightmares. It's hard to find rest when the things you need rest from don't take a break." 

"You and Mrs. Morrison are way wiser than me."

Sal chuckles. "I'm not wise. It's just getting later in the evening. I always start talking weird at night."

Curiously, Travis glances at the clock. His eyes grow wide with horror at the little red numbers. 11:48?! How long was he out? How long was he crying like a fucking baby?

"Shit, it's so late. Kenneth will be pissed."

Sal inhales sharply. "I don't want you going back to that house."

"I don't either," he admits. "But I have to. I… Listen, Sal-"

"I am listening." Sal takes his hands, smooths his thumbs over Travis' knuckles. "But Travis, that place isn't safe-"

Travis shoots forward to kiss Sal's ceramic lips. He pulls back as quickly as he surged forward to meet Sal's eyes, which are wide behind his mask. "If all this shit about the ministry and about the cult is true, then nowhere is safe. But I'm in the rare position to get intel, Sal. I can help you guys. We can make this place safe."

"You- You want to-" Sal shakes his head. His mask clatters, his pigtail flailing. "No way. No fucking way."

"Yes fucking way!"

"You only just learned about this- And look how you reacted!"

"Don't you fucking hold that over me! Yeah, I reacted badly, but I don't exactly have the privilege of prancing through the tulips right now, okay? I can't sit around until I'm ready. People are in danger and if I go home and convince my father that I'm on his side, I might be able to do something about it."

Sal is quiet for a long time. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't make a sound. He just sits there and breathes. Then, finally, a shivering exhale and a whisper, "I think they killed my mother."

Travis doesn't breathe.

"Everyone told me it was just a dog attack," he continues. "The doctors, the police, even my father. Only I saw the man in the dog mask."

It takes a minute for that to sink in. "You won't lose me like that."

"Can you prove that?"

"...With time, yes."

Sal is quiet again, but this time he turns his head. His hair is a mess. "My mom sacrificed herself to save me. I've tried every day to be that kind of person, to be that selfless and that brave and that kind…"

"Sal-"

"But I won't sacrifice you. No matter how great that greater good, I'm not losing you."

Travis bites his lip. His eyes sting again. "We've never even been on a real date," he chokes out.

"I know. That doesn't change how I feel about you." He interlocks their fingers together and repeats, "I don't want to lose you."

Travis swallows hard around the lump in his throat. "You won't. Please, just… Trust me. If things get too scary, I'll tell you. If things get to a point where I can't handle it, I'll take your hand, just like this, and tell you."

Sal's hand holds his tighter. Then, he sighs. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I trust you." He nods, then sighs when he catches sight of Travis' smile. "You're amazing. You can do this. Please, God, don't let me regret this."

At that, Travis laughs. "My name isn't God. I'm Travis. But I'll do what I can."

Sal presses closer. "One day the cult will be gone and you and I will go on a real date. Tell me that."

Travis smiles. It's a nice thought. "One day, the cult will be gone, and you and I will go on a real, actual, amazing date." It's a prayer as much as it is a promise, but Sal doesn't need to know that. 

He isn't God, but no matter what, Travis will bring this prayer to life. He will honor this promise.

He presses another kiss to Sal's prosthetic. "You should go make sure Larry isn't eating the entire pan of pot brownies. In the meantime, I have to call Kenneth and tell him I won't be coming home tonight."

"...Will he hurt you?"

"No," he says in certainty. "I'm going to tell him I was injured. Then I'll tell him I know about the Packertons after snooping around the apartments and- And that I'm ready to see the basement."

Sal shivers. "Okay. Okay, I trust you."

"Thank you, Sally."

"Just… Just be careful." 

"I will." 

Sal leans forward, face turned carefully towards Travis. He doesn't know what he's waiting for, until he suddenly realizes. And then he leans forward too, giving Sal the kiss he wants.

The two exit Todd's room together, but Travis splits away to make towards the phone. He isn't ready for the conversation he's about to have - he doesn't think he ever could be. Focusing hard on the tether connecting his heart to Sal, Travis picks up the phone and begins to dial. 

He can hear Larry's laughter in the other room. He can hear Ash and Todd talking, can imagine their smiles if he closes his eyes. And he can feel Sal. He can feel the place he has among them.

Kenneth Phelps picks up the phone on the third ring. "Hello?" He sounds angry, but for the first time in a long time, Travis isn't afraid.

"Hello, Father. I think we need to talk about my future."