[Petscop] bathroom-tomb

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Title: bathroom-tomb
Fandom: Petscop
Pairing: Paul Leskowitz & Rainer
Rating: T
Summary:

Here's what you remember:

Notes: A trick treat written for trickortreatex in a somewhat experimental/stream of consciousness style. I'm only providing the raw version here; you can read the version with custom CSS on AO3.
AO3 Link: Here.

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Here's what you remember:

You saw him that day. He stood out from the rest. Not because he was older.

The circumstances feel nebulous, now. There was a party. You were a child, then. There were other children there.

One of them said, that's my brother.

No. That's not true. That can't be true, you think. He was a brother to someone, but that someone couldn't be at that party.


Your bed creaks when you roll over to try and get into a better position. You squeeze your eyes shut.

Here's what you remember:

He was tall and thin like a ghost. Familiar, in an unsettling way. His bangs fell over his face like a curtain that's been eaten up by mites. There were dark circles under his eyes.

You couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't want you to look at him. Not so much that he didn't want you to see him as he didn't want to be seen at all.

The other kids didn't notice that something was wrong with him. They cared about playing, about having fun. You wanted to care about that, too.

You didn't.

Your chest felt tight and painful. You brought your hand up to your forehead, to scratch one of your eyebrows with your fingernail. You leaned forward to hide your face behind your long strands of hair.

"Hey," he said from somewhere to your left. "Don't do that."


The sheets feel too warm around you. You want to rip them off, but then it'd be too cold to sleep. You bury your face in your pillow.

Here's what you remember:

He came to your house sometimes. Your mother was never very good with technology; she could barely remember how to send emails. Whenever she didn't know what to do with the computer, she called him.

You think he didn't like you very much. He didn't like Carrie very much. He didn't like her very much. He didn't like you very much. He always looked at her you the same way someone would look at roadkill through the car window.

It didn't really bother you at the time. You had better things to worry about.


When you try to open your eyes, there's only darkness. The TV buzzes softly. The sweat covering your body is cold.

Here's what you remember:

It was Christmas. Maybe.

The door to the bathroom was locked. Maybe.

This isn't something you want to remember. Maybe.


You get up from the bed, dragging the sheets with you. You sit in front of the TV and take the controller in your hands just to feel the plastic under your fingers. It's hot to the touch. The PlayStation is on. Your head hurts.

Here's what you remember:

When you were a child you always had that irrational fear that something would come up the toilet drain while you were sitting on it. Sometimes it was a monster. Sometimes it was a clown. Sometimes it was a snake. Sometimes it was an overgrown plant. Sometimes, even, it was a ghost. You wanted to pee standing up, but your mother wouldn't let you. You couldn't understand why. You couldn't understand why you couldn't pee standing up, and you couldn't understand why your mother wasn't afraid of sitting on the toilet. The bathroom was a place of absolute vulnerability, a place for getting naked and sitting on the toilet and being afraid of monsters. Your mother thought it was funny, or silly, or both, when you talked about the bathroom like it was dangerous. At the time, you wanted her to understand, to get it, you wanted her to see, to agree with you that there could be something in the pipes and it could come up from the toilet or the shower drain or the sink faucet. You didn't even want her to let you pee standing up by that point, you just wanted her to say that you were right, that it was possible, that there was danger. There could be danger anywhere, but especially in the bathroom. You thought that when she got it, you'd feel glad. You'd feel relieved. You'd feel validated. You'd smile at her smugly and say, I told you so!

She was the one who opened the door to the bathroom, then.


You push the button on the TV that switches to the right channel. The screen flickers. You don't remember what you were doing the last time you played.

Here's what you remember:

There was a ghost in that bathroom, alright. It got there late, or maybe you got there early. It didn't matter. You were right, in the end, but there was nothing to smile or be smug about. That was the end of that story.

Not that you knew it at the time.