ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (beepbeep) wrote in noexits, @ 2022-02-23 16:19:00 |
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There was a trick to breaking free from zip ties behind your back, and lucky for Matt he knew how. Basically, lean forward, pull your arms up and bring them down sharply to hit your hands against your backside until it snapped. Easily enough really, and it made Matt wonder… if he knew how to get free, then his other self would know too… so why didn’t take extra precaution to ensure he remained bound? It was suspicious, but Matt would worry about it later. His next goal was to figure out where he was being kept, and then find Richie. Cramped room, a closet? The lingering scent of cleaning supplies suggested that was the case. Not in Butler Hall, though. The muffled sound below and around told Matt he was underground, a basement. Turning his head slowly to capture far away scents and sounds, he determined this was the Clinic. More importantly, he smelled Richie. But was it his Richie? The brief encounter he had with him didn’t give him much of a chance to tell the difference, so he hesitated. Down the corridor, in a room three doors down. Low heart rate, no movement, at least not yet. It was strangely quiet. Where the fuck was everybody else? Ah, there they were… one floor above. The other Matt and who he suspected was the other Richie, going at it pretty intense… Matt didn’t care to listen for very long. The important thing, there wasn’t anybody guarding them on this floor, so he carefully tested the doorknob. Unlocked. Huh. Too easy, which made him even more suspicious. Take it slowly, this was a prime area for a trap. Like, really? Fucking really? Richie knew that whole ‘Derleth’s evil twin’ campus was bad news bears from the moment the five monoliths made their ugly erectile presence in everyone’s lives. Not to mention the whole damn place looked like the literal apocalypse surrealist painting, all lead-gray skies and darkness, desolation, that hopeless feeling of having pulled sunken ships from the sea; there wasn’t much to salvage here. It was just bleak, and the white noise (heartbeats, buzzing, clattering, shrieking, the kitchen sink) had most likely succeeded in driving other Richie even more batshit crazy than he was. The thing was though? That Richie was him. A Richie who hadn’t killed IT with the other Losers - a Richie who hadn’t freed himself or Derry from the sinister clutches of something very, very evil. Something that lingered in the dregs of his mind even when he left town - he couldn’t outrun it. Couldn’t escape it. And now he was resetting every week as a reminder of that. He fucking hated it, and hated that other Richie had slapped a magical marking on his side - but shit was what it was and all this Richie knew was that he wanted out of the closet. There was probably deeper meaning there. Anyway. “Mmmph!” was the sound he made when the door was opened - he was bound and gagged, of course, and not in the sexy way that he and Matt got up to. Speaking of Matt, Richie was sure he’d heard his boyfriend calling to him for help before - it turned out to be a trap, and then he was knocked out and marked without his consent, followed by being tied up and thrown into a closet that smelled like rubbing alcohol, so that was fun. The mind link between them was still open, however, and Richie had sent Matt a ping (the correct Matt) as soon as he was awake. What the ACTUAL FUCK was that?? came over their linked radio station, and then an exasperated, Please untie me so I can beat the shit out of my other ASSHOLE self. Crazy muppet. It likely wouldn’t matter anyway. Evil twin Matt and Evil twin Richie had obviously accomplished what they set out to do, and now were celebrating in the way Richie figured they would if he and Matt ever pulled off a kidnapping, magical tattooing scheme. The wound on the side of Matt’s face where his other self wailed upon him had stopped bleeding, but if he had to judge by the taste in the air and how it had crusted where it had flowed, he would say it had been nearly an hour since he lost consciousness. His head hurt like a son of a bitch, and he knew he would look like shit, but at least Richie seemed unharmed… at least he couldn’t detect any cuts or broken bones on him, which was a plus. But just to check, he mentally asked, Are you hurt anywhere? He tore the duct tape away from Richie’s mouth and moved around behind where his hands had been zipped tied just like his. Was there a tool he could use? The closet where he was stored was for cleaning supplies, but this other one must be for medical stuff… Matt could also smell the rubbing alcohol…. but it had been emptied so they could stuff Richie inside. I’m going to show you how to break free. Matt guided Richie’s arms through the same process he used, but slowly. Do that really fast. It might take a couple of tries, and it’ll sting like hell, but try not to make any sound. As Richie did this, Matt tilted his head, ear toward the ceiling, ignoring Richie’s demand for revenge. We’re getting out of here and back to our campus, he said, mentally. Crazy and Crazier are one floor up, they’re distracted. If we can get escape without them raising an alarm, that’s the goal, The underlying concern was coming out of this alive so they could warn the others, and trying to prevent Richie from being hurt or killed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t mind going toe to toe with his evil twin without worrying about his own safety. If he got killed, fine… but he couldn’t stand the idea of Richie’s death, reset or no reset. The other problem was there were many other evil counterparts of people they knew lurking out there that they wouldn’t be able to stand a chance against, particularly magic users (although being able to punch a Loki in the face was very tempting). Look at him, playing it safe. Who would’ve thought? Right, quiet. Don’t make any sound. Evil Twin Hornballs (who got off on destruction and executing equally evil plans, apparently) were clearly busy but Evil Matt also had super hearing, and Richie didn’t want to loudly announce the fact that he was escaping. His other self’s telepathy was pretty intense, raw power and full of potential, but it was also not very focused - kind of hard to focus, when your mind resembled a scrambled breakfast side dish. He still seemed to really love his partner-in-kidnapping though. It was one of the only clear things that batshit crazy Richie knew to be real, and true. Knew it like he knew the world was made up of endless shadows and hadn’t done him any favors at all. Okay, okay, he grumbled, not speaking out loud - he just kept the mind link open, clear as a crystal bell, and followed Matt’s instructions about how to free himself from zip ties. He wiggled and grunted under his breath, probably looking like he had ants in his pants (and it did sting - holy hell) but eventually he got it. The bonds snapped in two and he was able to get free, rubbing his wrists to soothe the redness. I’m not hurt though - well. Richie paused, and now that his hands were free he rubbed his head where a goose egg had formed. His ribs also hurt, probably from where he’d struggled against getting a mark imprinted onto him - he’d been kicked a few times? Just some bumps and bruises. I’ll be fine - let’s get the fuck out of here. Matt kept focused on what their evil twins were doing, not because of some voyeurism kink, but to make sure he knew where they were. Once he discerned that Richie was on his feet and ready, he turned his attention to the immediate areas in order to make a run for it. The hall was long, with a stairway going up on either end… the one closest to them was their best bet, however… “Shit.” Matt muttered the word, forgetting how he’d just told Richie to be quiet, but then switched to mentally communicating, Somebody’s coming. He froze, trying to determine who it could be. It’s Aziraphale. He automatically assumed it wasn’t their version, and given how fucked up their versions were, there was no telling how horrible this one would be, or what messed up angelic powers he could use against them. We can keep hiding, wait till he goes away. Goddamnit, the last thing Richie wanted was to deal with some morally twisted angel who was probably a demon in this ‘verse and could likely vaporize them. But he also wasn’t entirely sure and the idea of being sitting ducks, waiting for their evil twins to finish celebratory fucking and thus coming to find them didn’t seem like a good idea either. Let’s just play it cool, he advised over his and Matt’s mental link. We look like shit - No offense, honey, but Matt definitely had been beaten up and this wasn’t the usual Daredevil way either when he was out fighting criminals - no, it had been baddie Daredevil against ‘Daredevil with a conscience’ so that seemed fun. He probably won’t even be able to tell the difference. Then we just scoot by. Maybe it would put their acting skills to the test, but hopefully not for very long - and hopefully they could just sneak past without incident. Do that ‘sup?’ nod evil people did when they greeted each other or whatever. Keep it simple. Matt froze in place, inclining his ear toward Richie - his heart was rapid, but he could tell it wasn't out of fear. Just, Richie was nervous, but the tone of Richie’s voice told Matt that he was ready to do this, adrenaline pumping. Matt weighed this suggestion in his mind before finally nodding. He’s in the hall, coming in our direction. Play it cool. Before they left the closet, Matt grabbed Richie’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, then let go. There were not many buildings left on campus, many of them were utterly destroyed and replaced by those damn monoliths. Aziraphale still got choked up with emotion when the theater went down. That week, part of the library had also been demolished, and the poor angel was so distraught that the campus’ main repository of books would also disappear. And while he still loved and cared for the library as if were his own, in recent months his mood changed. Whenever he felt unusually stressed, all he wanted to do was hide, and he thought he’d found the perfect location, a place that he didn’t think anybody else on campus knew about, or if they did, they didn’t care. In the basement of the clinic, in one of the rooms, there was a small area that had been blocked off by medical equipment, It was like a little, private room. No, it was too small a room… or even a closet… Aziraphale considered it a tomb, a place where he knew nobody would come to disturb him, alone in the dark in his hiding hole. He was heading there, but his hope that nobody would be around to see him was smashed when the door to the medical supply closet was opened. “Oh!” Aziraphale gave a start and his eyes opened wide with fear, recognizing Richie and Matt. “H.. hello…” his voice stuttered, nervously. They loved to bully him, sometimes resorting to physical harm knowing with confidence that he would never retaliate. They laughed at him for being cowardly and weak, and it was true. “I…I’m sorry. Sorry! Sorry I… didn’t know you two were here.” What were they doing in a closet together? Aziraphale had a good idea, and the sight of blood on Matt, the presence of a bump on Richie’s head, was not unusual. It was well known they liked it rough. He wanted to make his escape before they decided to rope him into one of their games. “I… urm… I’ll just leave.” He pointed to the staircase that he’d just taken, and started to back away. Alright, there you go, angelface. Back away. Good job. Richie followed his own advice and played it cool - on the outside, anyway. On the inside his mind was busy whirring in its manic kind of way - mostly considering if I was evil me, what would I say? because he didn’t want to screw this up. “Yeah - fuck off, weirdo,” he snorted, figuring that would do the job (but he also felt really bad about it because that was so mean and he wasn’t mean. Usually. Having a trashmouth was different than being a straight up bully - and he had been bullied enough in his life to hate people who fell into that category). But it seemed to work so that was what mattered - him and Matt getting out of here and yeeting themselves away from this creepy-ass campus was paramount. So he grabbed his boyfriend’s hand, and Richie started walking in the opposite direction of the angel - toward the nearest exit and why was this building so goddamn dark. Then again, it was a sorry excuse for a clinic. The supplies had dwindled, and even if they reset every week it was like working with the bare bones - ransacked shit that you had to pick through, which sucked if there was an actual emergency. Matt chose to stay quiet and just put on his best Daredevil scowl, standing in the intimidating way he would when facing criminals in costume. Between that and Richie’s rude remark, that seemed to do the trick. Were they actually going to get away with this stunt? Could they keep up the ruse the rest of the way to get back to safety? They took two steps toward the exit and Matt stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh shit,” he muttered. “Oh shit is right,” came his voice directly ahead, his other self descending the steps. In the time it took for him to be distracted by Aziraphale, their evil doubles had finished their sexploits and had come to check what was happening downstairs. Matt tilted his head slightly to hear evil Richie, who had run across the hall above, passing Aziraphale along the way, and positioning himself at the second stairwell to effectively block their only other way of escape. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” Evil Matt, who was barefoot and wearing only jeans, had a Japanese style sword unsheathed in his hand… not a katana, but a shorter, wider tantō, though this specific detail was probably lost on Richie. Matt released Richie’s hand, giving the mental warning, Stay back, as he took on a fighting stance. Your crazy half is coming down the other set of stairs. If he was being 100% truthful, ever since Matt heard there were duplicates of themselves in the other Derleth, he had also wanted to fight his other self, just out of curiosity, even before knowing they were evil versions. They were both getting their wish. His crazy self was what now? Richie, who had absolutely no desire to fight his other self, panicked. “Matt!” he spluttered, wanting to go to him - there wasn’t any way he could really help much, but regardless, he knew this would turn into something ugly and he wanted to protect the person he loved. Still, if he got in between he would surely be pummeled - However, he didn’t have much time to consider it. The other him was fast, maybe it was all that extra manic energy he had thanks to the ghosts and trauma rattling around in his brain along with the few remaining marbles - but Richie was slammed into by his goddamn evil twin, flailing and hitting the concrete floor, scrabbling to get up. He didn’t have a chance to though - because he was kicked in the fucking ribs again and pain exploded like fireworks, a star turning into a supernova; he couldn’t get his bearings but that didn’t stop him from lashing out the way a cornered animal would. “Get the fuck off of me!” he spat, and even in the dark he could see the wide, jack-o-lantern smile of himself - this version of him who was too far gone to not enjoy the pain. Salting the meat. “You’re going to love it here,” the other Richie hissed excitedly. “You’ll float like how we all do. Like how we were promised - “ He was scratched and kicked by a Richie whose limbs were going haywire to try to fend him off, but he barely noticed despite how some of those hits connected and his clothes were dirtied, his glasses knocked askew. He got his hands around the throat of his shiny counterpart, the good one, and squeezed. “Baby!” he called to Matt. “Is yours dead yet? Mine almost is.” Actually sane Richie, on his knees, scrabbled to try to claw fingers off of him but it was in vain - they were too tight around his throat, and he struggled for air. Well. Guess it was time he had a Derleth death anyway. Great. It took all of Matt’s attention to focus on evading the sword being swung at him. He heard a scuffle happening behind and had to trust Richie would be able to save himself from himself. Combat in close quarters was something of a specialty, and Matt was going to use this to his advantage. After taking a cut on his shoulder, Matt waited for his double to swing again, and disarmed him with a combination of moves that began with trapping the blade against the side of the wall with his foot, grabbing the sword arm and jerking it toward him while simultaneously smacking his opponent in the face with his elbow, all in quick succession. The other Matt dropped the sword, giving him the opportunity to move in with a series of punches, most of which were blocked, but a few managed to hit. Why the fuck was he enjoying this so much? Was he so much different than his twisted counterpart? Matt heard Richie calling his name, and for a split second thought it was his... but once the sentence was finished, he realized to his horror what was happening, could hear Richie’s struggle to breathe, and he panicked. The other Matt took advantage of this split second distraction to land a blow directly to the face, breaking his nose, causing blood to spatter. Then another punch. And another. Not letting up until Matt had fallen to the floor, beaten and exhausted. He struggled to get back on his feet, but the other Matt had gone to retrieve his sword and returned, pushing him down again with his foot. The blade swung up, and Matt was certain he was going to die… … but then the blade clattered to the ground, followed by a thud of the other Matt’s limp body… followed quickly by the fall of the evil Richie from behind. Neither of them had heartbeats, for some reason they’d simultaneously dropped dead. Confused but alert, he reached out his senses around them and recognized the presence of somebody they’d encountered a little while before. Aziraphale nervously wrung his hands, horrified at what he’d just done. He promised himself long ago never to use his miracles to harm others, had endured five years of hellish situations successfully avoiding doing so despite the anger and ridicule of those who thought he should intervene. Who knew that what would drive him over the edge was to prevent two of his own from slaughtering their doubles? After going up the stairs and spotting Richie running past him in the hallway after just seeing him on the floor below, he immediately understood what was happening. The sound of fighting was a confirmation. He stood there agonizing over what he ought to do. On the one hand he ought to just leave, it wasn’t his business or his fight. Ignore the mindless slaughter like he always did, walk away and pretend nothing was happening. But this time was different, wasn’t it? He remembered the way his counterpart had innocently taken the badge that was one step closer to sealing his own doom, the guilt was overpowering. Remaining passive while tragedy occurred around him was something Aziraphale was accustomed to, even before being trapped in Derleth. He’s watched as the history of mankind unfolded, all the while under strict orders from Heaven not to intervene. Considering all this, he was filled with something he hadn’t felt in years - righteous indignation, along with the bravery to go down the stairs, arriving at just the right time. It only took a ridiculously small miracle to make his Richie and Matt drop dead… so easy… and though they didn’t deserve it, he felt guilty all over again. The other pair were still alive, though. “Leave!” he told them before he gave himself a chance to change his mind.. “Quickly! I’ll make sure you have safe passage to your side.” Having his air supply cut off did not feel great - Richie had been hit so many times and choked so intensely he began seeing stars, entire Milky Way galaxies just bursting in his line of vision until it began fading out at the edges. He fought and fought, because he was stubborn and scrappy, but eventually the fight began to drain out of him the more his other self held on, his grip like steel. What did it say that Richie actually felt bad for his ‘evil’ twin? Didn’t hate him. Didn’t think he could kill him, which was why he was in this predicament at all - but it was just sad, really. Depressing to know that there was a version of him out there had succumbed to ITs influence and wouldn’t ever be able to break that hold - or maybe he could. Maybe, somehow, he could find his way back from darkness that spiraled like ripples on black waters. He didn’t have much time to ponder it - he just gave up, on the verge of unconsciousness, when all of a sudden he was able to suck in air again. Richie coughed, wheezed, scrambling back when he heard the sound of a body falling to the floor. “Wha - “ He coughed again, managing to stand even though everything hurt down to his hair follicles. “Matt - “ That was his priority, and he went to his partner to help him up so they could run off. It was when Richie realized who had helped them. “Oh, uh - thanks for that,” he told the angel. “Sorry about the fucking weirdo thing.” As bloody and beaten as Matt was, he could honestly say he’d experienced worse. His ability to get up and keep going despite his wounds was something like a superpower, but it was just plain stubbornness. Matt grasped Richie’s offered hand and rose unsteadily to his feet, and as he stood to get his grounding, he faced Aziraphale’s direction. “Thanks…” he said, nodding his head. Being shown kindness and gratitude from these two was unexpected, receiving nothing but grief from them since his arrival. Aziraphale, worried less for their safety, though, but more for his own… if he was caught talking to them, helping them escape, his existence would be made even more miserable in the coming days and weeks. He wasn’t even sure whether or not his Richie and Matt would wake up after the reset knowing he was responsible for their deaths… he would have to find that out later. Instead of saying you’re welcome, Aziraphale revealed his train of thought by telling them, “Thank you.” He was putting himself in peril, and had used his miracle to kill, but somehow he felt more angelic than he had in a long while. Aziraphale then made a brushing motion with his fingers to shoo shoo the pair away. “Now go! Before somebody else shows up. I’ll take care of matters, here.” Richie didn’t have to be told twice. He took off running (or took off limping, more like), holding onto Matt’s hand and squeezing tightly - he knew Matt didn’t need to be guided anywhere, it wasn’t that. Mostly Richie just wanted to keep the contact to make sure they got off this shit Dollar Store Derleth campus together. “Hurry,” he insisted, voice sounding like his vocal cords had been scraped with sandpaper - his neck was bruised, and having his throat nearly crushed would cause something like that to happen. “I need to clean the blood off and to curl up in a dark corner and not come out until the reset.” Jesus. What a shittastic experience, one that they’d need to seek medical attention for - and one he was certain was one of the worst during his experiment adventures. Even worse than those Real World weeks of congealed glue to eat and no hair. Even worse than the ghosts - just downright awful and depressing, and made him feel hollow and dead inside. As they ran (or in Richie’s case, hobbled), Matt kept listening ahead to make sure they wouldn’t cross anybody else’s path… he wasn’t in the mood to play-act any more, and he suspected Richie’s mood was worse. It was hard for him to tell what time it was, but nobody seemed to be around… Aziraphale was true to his word and kept the area clear for them. “Clinic first,” Matt insisted. “We need to get you checked out.” Naturally, Baymax would want to check on his status, too… he looked a hell of a lot worse for wear, with fresh blood all over his face and down the front of his shirt. “I’m guessing they slapped one of their badges on you, can you see one on me?” “Clinic first,” Richie agreed. “But for you too - your nose is broken, baby. And you’re cut. And bleeding.” Matt probably had experienced worse during his tenure as Daredevil, cleaning up the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, but still - Richie was worried. And it was cold. The chill of the neighboring campus felt like needles pricking into his skin, seeping into his bones where it settled and just sat - he wouldn’t miss it when it was gone. The hope that it would disappear was strong, because Richie didn’t want to consider what would happen if it didn’t. “Yeah - “ He slowed up once they seemed to have run past the worst of it. Luckily this clinic wasn’t too far from the other campus’s clinic, kind of just a straight shot. Outside the door of the proper Waldron Clinic (which was probably overloaded already to the fucking Godzilla attack), he paused and examined Matt. “It’s on your right arm, kind of like a weird tattoo. I’ve got one on my side. The fucking asshole,” he muttered sourly. RIP, other Richie - god, he had so many mixed feelings about that and was pretty sure he hated each and every one of them. “I’m bleeding?” Matt asked, trying to find some sarcastic humor in a terrible situation. “I hadn’t noticed. He tried to smile, but it was weak and short lived. The burst of adrenaline that helped him cross the other side and escape was starting to wear off and he was feeling weak, limbs heavy. “At least I donated some of my blood last week, I can get a transfusion. Hope the vampires won’t mind.” Matt ran his fingers over his right arm where Richie said the badge was, but he couldn’t feel anything… it had blended perfectly with his skin and didn’t give off any sort of energy. “They’re really insistent on giving these to us. Want to bet it’s not as good for us as they keep claiming?” In contrast to Richie’s mixed feelings, Matt was just numb. Maybe it was the loss of blood, maybe he was just tired, or maybe it was too overwhelming at the moment. One step at a time - take care of Richie, take care of himself, warn the others. |