#the one i've done for day 17 is very long and filthy so idk if i can bring myself to post it

[eoinmcgonigal]

16: Bill/Johnny

For the prompt from @almost-a-class-act: "I think the… kitchen is haunted?"

Shoutout to this event for keeping me going when I have absolutely nothing else lol

-

It feels like only moments after he’s fallen asleep that Bill is woken up again. He shifts, blinking blearily in the light that’s spilling in from the hallway, silhouetting Johnny’s cautiously moving form.

“Wha’izzit?” he mumbles.

Johnny is creeping towards the bed, something off about his breathing. As Bill tries to sit up, he breathes: “I think the… kitchen is haunted?”

Bill huffs so heavily he almost collapses back down into bed.

“No, seriously!” Johnny insists. “I can hear… sounds…”

“Fuck sakes,” Bill sighs, slipping from beneath the covers. He scruffs his hair out of his eyes as he makes his way round the bed. “Come on.”

Johnny, in spite of all his usual bravery, lets Bill lead the way. “There is definitely something in there,” he breathes in a hushed tone.

“Mhm,” Bill agrees, squinting beneath the lights. He would rather be cosy in bed. This is utter nonsense, but he’ll humour Johnny. It’ll be nothing more than whatever movie Johnny has been watching and an overtired imagination. The kitchen is not haunted.

To prove his point, he flicks the light on when he reaches the kitchen. Behind him, Johnny squeaks and flinches back. Bill wants to say ‘see?’ as he casts his eye around and everything is as it should be.

“Over there,” Johnny says tightly, pointing towards the sink.

Bill crosses over to it, looking. Nothing. He picks up a bowl that was precariously stacked on two others, and has shifted. “This?”

He sets it down again, and it slides, so he leaves it.

“I wasn’t scared by the—”

Johnny freezes. There’s a noise. It’s a groan, something whining and protesting with all its tormented worth.

“There!” Johnny breathes. “That!”

Bill rubs his hand over his eyes, letting out a sigh. “Come here,” he says, walking towards the fridge-freezer.

As if frightened to be separated from him, Johnny follows. He squeaks again when the noise restarts, grabbing at the small of Bill’s back and clinging to a fistful of his top.

Bill opens the door, and the noise stops.

He closes it, and after five seconds it starts again.

“Why is it doing that?” Johnny pleads.

“You seriously didn’t notice it before?” Bill wonders.

“No?! That’s not natural!”

“It’s been like that for months.”

“It… has?”

Bill lets out a breath, ready to go back to bed. “I has, I promise.”

“Oh.”

“No haunted whatevers,” Bill emphasises. “Just a shitty fridge. Did you enjoy your movie?”

“Fuck you,” Johnny says softly, but there’s no venom in it. He is shaking, still clinging to Bill.

“Do you want me to check anything else?” Bill offers.

Johnny hesitates, and then shakes his head. “No, it’s—”

The bowl shifts again, and Johnny yelps.

“Bed?” Bill suggests.

Johnny nods, not letting go. It’s up to Bill to nudge him along, and to turn the light off as they go. So much for a nice early night while Johnny stays up to treat himself to a horror movie, he thinks, trying not to answer the shiver the ripples through him as something at the back of his own mind whispers: But what if…?

War is Helloween