We Thought We Had Nothing To Fear, Until Fear Came For Us (Private w/ ephemeral.)

No one had puked and everyone had remained in one piece, although Theo had come pretty damn close to doing the former. He'd sort of hunched over after Jack had put him down, covering his mouth with one hand. Needless to say, Sam had run from Theo when that's happened, but it was a false alarm. Everytime someone knelt down, looking ready to hurl, it was a false alarm. If they were doing it on purpose, Sam didn't know. He hoped they weren't.

They'd all left, one by one, until it was just Sam left. When he departed, heading for his bike that he'd left near the road, he'd declined any company. He was fine to head out on his own and he knew where to go, he didn't need to be babysat. Well, that was how he saw it, at least. Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, to call it babysitting, but sometimes Sam just preferred being alone to having someone else chattering in his ear. With Theo as a practically-almost-brother, those moments where he'd been alone had been few and far between.

There was a road that ran near Jack's property, the one that Jack's family would take into Derry. It was convenient for them, that was for sure. They weren't super close, but at least they had a direct road. It was where Sam was, the side of that road, pulling his bike up and dusting off the seat. He could hear a car coming and didn't think much of it, simply moving off to the side more so the car had more room to pass by him. It was when the car slowed down and eventually came to a stop beside him that he looked up, breath catching in his throat and his eyes going wide when he saw who it was.

( this is kinda horrible since i'm at school.)

Harry definitely looked worse for the wear when Sam's eyes locked on him, leaning out of the car as it slowly rolled to a stop. He didn't look five minutes from death, as Sam might've predicted, but he hadn't gotten away from Roger unscathed. Sam slowly began backing away, dropping his bike to the ground, but and equally-beat up Matthew instantly jumped out of the car and ran at Sam, almost barrelling him over onto the ground. Sam's arms were pinned to his sides when Matthew wrapped his own arms around Sam, dragging him back to where Harry and Roger were waiting, despite Sam squirming in his grasp.

Roger had a giant grin on his face; one might think he was going to be friendly. But that was if you had no idea who Roger actually was. "Hey there, milksop. Where's your boyfriend at?" Roger greeted him, Sam's eyes narrowing into a glare. Roger's hand grabbed at his jaw, roughly forcing Sam to look him right in the eye. "Y'know, I was kinda hoping he'd be here. That little thing you two pulled at the bridge really pissed me off. I was planning to gut the little shit the next time I saw him, but looks like you showed up first." Roger laughed. "But since your parents actually give a damn about you, I can't cut you up like the bitch you are. You're lucky, but that doesn't mean I won't hurt you."

"What do we do with him, Rog?" Matthew asked, but Sam didn't hear Roger's reply. He was too busy trying to thrash around, Matthew having to struggle just a little bit to detain him. He could hear Matthew hiss with displeasure as Sam managed to get an elbow into his side- it was a weak elbow, but Matthew hadn't been expecting it. Roger was yelling at Matthew for being unable to hold Sam properly and now at Harry, to get him to help.

"Get off of me!" Sam shouted, still thrashing around and trying to twist out of Matthew's, and now Harry's, too, grip.

( ack i'm still at school. )

A hand wrapped around Sam's neck, nails digging into his skin and threatening to draw blood if he wasn't careful. Sam froze, his breath catching in his throat, as Roger leaned forward: Their faces were just inches apart now, Roger's breath was hot on his face and Sam had to bite his tongue to keep himself from crying out again. His hands balled up into tight fists as Roger spoke: "Keep it up and I'll take back what I said." His voice had an edge to it, telling Sam that he wouldn't hesitate. "I'll cut you from cheek-to-cheek, see how people like you then."

Roger reached up with his other hand and Sam braced himself, but the punch or slap he was expecting never came. Instead, a hand gingerly brush a curl away from Sam's face. Chills went down Sam's spine and he felt like he was going to be sick. He swallowed thickly, a heavy weight forming in his stomach, and had to try with all of his might to stop himself from crying out. Or just starting to cry. He didn't want to get cut up, but he didn't want to give Roger the satisfaction of seeing him cry, especially when that huge stupid grin was on Roger's face.

A small voice made Roger jerk away from Sam, the latter turning his head to see Frankie standing off to the side. Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the young boy, not wanting him anywhere near here right now. "Frankie-" he started, but was soon cut off when a hand clapped over his mouth, Harry glaring down at him. Roger snapped at Frankie about what he wanted, to get the hell out of there. Sam would've said the exact same thing, but maybe not for the same reasons as Roger did.

As Frankie turned tail and ran, Harry removed his hand from Sam's mouth. "Rog," he said, "we should get out of here. That brat might go get help," he suggested, glancing at Matthew and then back at Roger with his eyebrows raised. Matthew nodded his agreement, looking over at Roger to hear his response.

Neither Matthew nor Harry argued with Roger, but Matthew's grip on Sam tightened just a bit. Roger leaned in again to speak to Sam, who cringed when Roge's breath ghosted across his face. His breath stinks, Sam thought, although also wondered why he was concerned with that right now. Roger was saying that he'd be nice, but he was most definitely not being nice- he was making Sam choose whether he wanted a tooth knocked out, or a finger broken! Sam's stricken, pale face must've been pretty obvious, as Roger let out a laugh.

However, a call rang out across the field and Sam twisted around, craning his neck to look behind Roger. Jack was storming towards them, something clutched in his hands. Sam couldn't decipher what it was, but when Jack got closer, the sharp edges of the hatchet came into view.

"Roger!" Harry said frantically, his eyes wide. "He's got a fucking hatchet, he could kill us!" he shrieked. Harry was no coward, but when faced with an angry-looking kid who had a hatchet in his hands, he was going to get the fuck out of there. "Let's just go!"

"What do we do with him?" Matthew asked, slightly panicked, looking down at Sam in his arms.

Sam was wrenched from Matthew's grasp and pulled into a headlock at Roger's side. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a headlock - hell, Matthew had wrapped his arm around Sam's neck at the bridge - but this was the first time he'd been utterly terrified while in a headlock. It must have something to do with Roger's arm pressing against his windpipe, threatening to cut off his oxygen. Or maybe it just had something to do with Roger, period. You didn't want to be in his grasp.

Sam had never seen Jack look so angry. He found it weird to just noticing now that Jack didn't really get upset - Sam got upset about little things, Sarah couldn't stand how stupid the boys could be sometimes, and Dan and Theo..well, they were a whole different book. Sam could feel a glow of love as Jack threatened Roger for him, trying to protect him, but couldn't stop the flame of embarassment that was lit in him, too. He didn't want to be in this position.

"Keep the fruitcake," Roger said casually, shoving Sam over to where Jack was standing - he just about stumbled and fell, too - and walking to his car, where Matthew and Harry had bolted to when Roger ordered them to. He slid in to the drivers seat and started the car, tires screeching as they pulled away.

As the older teenagers drove away, Sam turned to look at Jack. "Thank you," he said softly, almost in a whisper. He still felt like crying - how could you not? - but bit his cheek, determined to not let any tears escape his eyes.

A hand came to rest on Sam's shoulder, making him cringe slightly. He busied himself with smoothing out his clothes, lips pressed into a thin line as he did so. A squeeze of his shoulder made Sam look up, Jack looking him in the eyes. "It's okay, it's okay..." Jack was reassuring him.

No, it's not okay, Sam thought, his brain beginning to go a mile a minute, because now Roger wants to kill me, and he wants to cut Dan up, and I have to warn him, and I'm not always going to have someone to protect me, and I've always been low on Roger's hit list but now I'm climbing upwards. A sob was beginning to rise im his throat, but he swallowed it down. A small sound, almost like he was choking, escaped his mouth, but that was it.

His hand ghosted over his neck, the phantom pain of Roger's hand and nails not having disappeared yet. "Are there any marks on my neck?" he asked quietly, his lips turning downwards into a frown. Roger's nails hadn't broken the skin, he knew that for sure, but Roger had put enough pressure on his neck that small bruises might form. If there are bruises, that might make some people ask questions, Sam thought, mind instantly flying to Theo.

Now he needed to distract himself from that thought, stooping down to pull his bike up, dusting off the seat. One might find it odd that he hadn't cracked yet, but Sam had had plenty of practice for this. Just keep your mind off of it, he always told himself. It'll keep you busy and keep you from crying. Therefore, his actions were almost robotic, as he made sure his bike wasn't damaged and his clothes didn't look the least bit rumpled.

Just a bit red, Sam said in his head. That's good, I doubt it'll bruise, then. If it does, it'll probably be faint enough that it won't be noticeable. That thought made a breath of relief escape his mouth and he straightened up, pulling at his shirt again. His bike was clean, the shirt was all he had. No wrinkles, no wrinkles, he repeated to himself, not realizing how violently he was beginning to tug at his shirt.

"Sam... You're gonna tear your shirt if you kerp tugging at it like that." Jack said, sighing. Sam ceased his pulling - My parents will have my ass if I tear my shirt, he thought, but now what do I do? - and a hand came to rest firmly on his shoulder, making Sam turn so he was now looking Jack in the eyes. "Listen... Anyone would of pissed themselves had they been in your position, so already you're one of the bravest kids in Derry." Jack said to him. "But that doesn't mean you have to play it off like you're fine. I can see it in your eyes, Sam, you're not."

Sam could feel the tears beginning to burn behind his eyes. Damn it, Jack, he wailed internally, why do you have to be that sincere? Just let me do my thing. Abruptly, Sam turned away, wiping at his eyes. He focused on getting on his bike, twisting the handlebars around - as if he was testing to make sure the front wheel was alright - to hide how shaky his hands were becoming. "Thanks again, Jack," he said, his voice tight. He dared to look up and meet Jack's eyes, giving him a small smile despite the tears collecting in his eyes.

An idea seemed to occur to Jack, going alert before quickly announcing that he had something he wanted to give to Sam. This made Sam raised his eyebrows - he was getting ready to kick off the ground and be on his merry way - but Jack's words and order to stay there made him plant his feet firmly on the ground, hands clutching tightly at his handlebars. "Okay," he said quietly, giving a small nod even though Jack couldn't see him; he'd already turned around and was on his way to the tool shed.

Sam didn't spend the time that Jack was in the shed thinking about what he was going to bring him, but instead he let himself cry a little, small sniffles and hiccups escaping him as he wiped away the tears that trailed down his cheeks. He was still trying to compose himself, too, taking deep breaths that ended in him holding back a choking sob. It was when he noticed Jack walking back towards him that he tried with all his might to hold everything back, having to clear his throat a few times. He hastily wiped at his eyes for one last time, blinking a few times to clear them, looking up at Jack as he approached.

Jack's hand was splayed out in front of him, a small object laying on his palm. Sam's eyes widened when he saw it; a pocket knife wasn't something that Sam had ever thought he'd be carrying. "Wh-" he started, but was cut off by Jack stating that his uncle had a nicer pocket knife, this one hadn't been in use, instead being buried behind various things. He wanted Sam to have it, to protect himself against Roger if he ever needed it.

Sam stared at the knife in Jack's hand for a few moments longer, soon reaching forward slowly with a shaky hand to take it from Jack, swallowing hard when his fingers closed around it. He didn't want to admit it, but he might need it. No, he would need it.

"Thank you, Jack," he said again, for the third time in, what, ten minutes? He had to say thank you for this, Sam wouldn't have ever had enough courage to think of a pocket knife or go find one himself. He shoved it into his pocket, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of it pressing against his skin. "I- I should be going now. My parents might get worried if I'm late," Sam explained curtly, giving Jack another smile, his eyes slightly red from the crying he did. "Bye."

And with that word, Sam kicked off the ground, daring to raise a hand to wave at Jack behind him as he pedalled away.

( welp, idek how good this is. )

Maybe it'd just been a coincidence that Jack had woken up at two-thirty in the morning, but perhaps he'd think different after what happened next. Maybe it hadn't been his own brain or some sound that'd woken him up, but instead some sort of invisible will, poking and prodding him until he'd cracked open his eyes. That will was staring at him with large eyes, fire blazing in its depths. As Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to get up and get some water, a small hand appeared in the doorway. "Jack?" a voice said, sounding scared. It was familiar, it was the voice of Frankie.

Half of Frankie's face now appeared, his eye staring at Jack intensely. "I had a bad dream. Roger was with Sam again, and he was mad at me." he explained. "He didn't want me snitching. He got me." Frankie stepped out into the doorway, revealing a bruised, bloody face, almost looking as if he was ready to drop dead then and there. Jack would blink once, then all of Frankie would look like that; now he was rotting. His right eye was gone, an empty socket in its place. His hair was stuck flat to his head, as if he'd just left the water of a lake. His skin was rapidly turning a shade of green, decaying away right in front of Jack.

"I was floating, Jack. I was floating." Frankie said, his voice seeming to change, as if it wasn't actually Frankie speaking anymore. His left eye didn't lose any intensity as it stared at Jack, despite its glazed-over look. You should just be looking at nothingness if you were dead, but Frankie was obviously looking right at Jack.