Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Duncan please, I know what to do!"

His finger was laying under the exclamation mark of the text. He read over it, every letter, vowel, constant and all that flew through him was an odd mixture of anger and sorrow, maybe?

Duncan was laying on his bed, phone in hand, skimming texts he sent with... God forbid he speak of him. Duncan was pained. His chest was heavy, unsual. Almost like heartburn, but not really. Duncan was slightly trembling and he had a headache. The phone's screen was bright and hard on his eyes, but he didn't feel like he could lower the brightness.

God, Duncan must have hit his head that morning because why was he so... concerned about Travis Burton? He'd gone missing on Halloween of 2014, and Duncan practically knew that Trav wouldn't walk out alive, but now? Now he wanted to know. It was 2015, Goddammit! Stupid fucking Burton. They weren't even good friends. Well, Travis thought. Duncan was actually just manipulating him—which is why Travis unfriended him.

....At least the sacrifice worked,  right?

Right. Duncan thought on. Trailing his thoughts and stalling as he looked up at his painted ceiling. Fuck. What time was it, even? He was up late, probably. Just staring at his ceiling, thinking about his long gone, missing ex-friend, Travis. It was stupid. Maybe a cause of sleep deprivation? Just thinking about dumb shit that.. it was Halloween. 

Yeah, that made more sense.

Duncan sat up straight. Cold air flying over his chest. Bad habit of his to sleep shirtless, but didn't most guys? Whatever. Duncan averted his eyes to the missing poster he had ripped off a tree and kept in his room.

You'd think his parents would have concerns, but no. They just thought it was about Duncan's idiotic diagnosis. Duncan thought that his, what was it? "Personailty Disorder" was a bunch of bullshit because he acted differently... that was the definition of a Personailty Disorder, though. Duncan just hated being put in a box. He hated his therapist. He hated the attempt his therapist made.

Sadly, therapists didn't really work with those with BPD, Borderline Personailty Disorder, because of.. the difficulties? Was it? Duncan didn't give a shit. He'd rather keep his misery to himself.

The missing poster read the following that Duncan actually cared about it.

Missing Since: 31st October, 2014

Duncan looked at the date plastered on his phone screen.

31st October, 2015

Duncan wanted to smash his head in the wall for NOW caring. Sure, when Travis was first gone, Duncan felt a bit bad. But, a whole year without him... damn. It felt weird.

Duncan hated being alone. He also hated when people would leave him. And when Travis ended their friendship, GOD, did Duncan rip him a new one... over text, of course. Through voicemails, even attempted calls he would threaten, berate and insult Travis. He read over those texts and voicemails, and Travis even responded back.

Even if he tried not to.

Duncan had been called stuff like "a Manipulator", or "a sadist' and Duncan... didn't give one shit. He'd be getting what he wanted and he was happy. He was also, oddly, a control freak. A control freak, a manipulator, and an absolute dick. 

Duncan switched off his phone and put it on charge. Laying it on the bedside table, as he pulled the covers over himself. Letting his eyes close, and sleep embrace him.

There was a lingering thought of interest.

what properly happened to Travis?

Nobody nor Police knew why. Duncan did extensive research on Wick, but never found out what happened to every victim, no matter if he led them in or not. And now, curiosity might get the best of him. Well... curiosity always got the better of Duncan. They say, "Curiosity killed the cat" but it might aswell. And that didn't deter Duncan whatsoever.

Not at all.

Chapter Text

Duncan leans over his messy desk. Phone open, high brightness. Sticky notes on the walls and inside some old books that Duncan doesn't even remember. A couple empty cans, and glasses. Plates and bowls. Notebooks and sketchbooks wide open. Pens that he constantly replaced. Torn out pages, and a full bin. Laundry in the background.

He was a mess.

When was the last time he showered? God knows. It's honestly not like Duncan noticed. He didn't care, also. He hated showers. He hated them beyond levels that humanity could understand. He preferred baths, but he couldn't have what he wanted.

He could never have what he wanted.

Duncan was never satisfied. All of those sacrifices, nights of lost sleep, research, manipulation, obsession... and he... he wanted more. More control over his friends. More control over himself. 

Travis, was a victim to this behaviour. And... Travis knew. He knew. He could sense it. He was aware of Duncan's flaws. Everything. However, Travis didn't care because he never had a friend. Not a single one. He was the weird kid. Or atleast to other people, he was. He was hyperactive, Impulsive, "annoying", forgetful and inattentive. He could never grow out of those things, but he tried, he tried so fucking hard and it didn't work. Travis swooned at the idea of having a friend—let alone one that was interested in the same things he was!

At first, Duncan was supportive of Travis and his opinions. He was always willing to hear him out... right? No. Duncan was NEVER that good of a friend. He'd jump to conclusions quickly. He was so scared of abondement that he made Travis spend nights, days.. weeks, even at his house. Travis could never say "no", because if he did, Duncan would flip out. He was an angry and belligerent guy.

Travis could barely distance himself without Duncan running to him, begging him to stay. Red flags all over the place, and GOD... Travis was just, defend and defend him all the damn time. Even if Travis knew he was being unreasonable. The only other couple reasons Travis stayed with Duncan is because;

A) Duncan was another school weirdo.

B) They needed eachother. Duncan needed Travis to keep going and so did he.

In short, they had a roundabout friendship. Every time it was "I'm leaving him," and then he'd crawl back to Duncan. Starved for his validation and affection.

Duncan also loved Travis' validation. In all honesty, Duncan loved validation.

Duncan, ignoring every other thought, has a laptop open at the front of his dark oak desk and he has a Google Doc open. There's an entire essay of points, paragraphs and some clipped images and links. Duncan looks between his desk, that has a small compartment under it that can slide out, and the laptop. His phone is switched off and charging because it's well, dead, and now Duncan can't check texts.

But he's not an idiot. He even sent letters back and forth with Travis.

So, he slid the compartment out and took ahold of some letters and cards. Not all were from Travis, so he opened them and looked at the handwriting, throwing them aside. One was patterned and was a birthday card from an aunt. One had a Christmas Wreath on it from an uncle. One had a teddy bear on it, birthday card for a 12 year old Duncan. He threw it aside..  and finally!

A Christmas card... with Travis' signature messy handwriting... Duncan held it up to his face. Lips curling into a smile as both relief and excitement ran through his veins. He opened the card and whipped out a green highlighter from his stash of pens, glitter pens, glue, glitter glue and basically just all writing essentials. Duncan moved some hair out of his face and read the card.

"Dear Duncan,

Hope you have a great Xmas, dude! You're amazing, really!

- TBubber"

Duncan sighed and lifted the card to throw it away. "Useless," he thought. Though, he made a mental note that Travis, at least to him, never signed stuff with "Travis". So, Duncan went through the pile of letters and cards. He raised up a birthday card.

"Dear Dunkin,

Have an awesome birthday!!! You're super cool, and I..."

Duncan skimmed the other parts. He was almost amused at how much Travis poured into the card. A lot of praise. Interesting. Duncan was still replaying some lines in his head but highlighted a fraction of a sentance that said something along the lines of; "I may be scared of the dark", just incase that'd come in handy any time soon.

He went through a total of 16 cards. Most conversations were over text, anyway. Duncan had highlighted a sentence or two that was Travis saying he liked Halloween... both in Christmas letters, oddly enough. One that spoke of Travis' birthday, one saying the name of his mother(Just to be safe), alot of the highlights were on stuff about Wick and their YouTube channel.

Duncan leaned back in his chair after reading the 17th letter. Tired, he looked between his work and his bed. It had never looked so soft or welcoming... Duncan raised from his chair and walked over the unclean clothes that were sprawled out around the floor. He passed by his wardrobe, and stopped infront of it. He took out some pajamas... looked nicer than ever.

Duncan crashed onto his bed and like usual that week, since Halloween, he was yet reminded his work would be interruptted. He had taken a shower on Sunday, but now it was Thursday, going on Friday... Duncan groaned at the thought and stared at the ceiling. He threw the covers over himself and contuined looking at his ceiling above. One thought;

"Travis was naive."

Duncan slowly closed his eyes and let himself fall into a deep sleep. Dreaming... again. A common occurance, recently. But it felt as if Duncan was being told something.. as if he was finally getting closer to being... satisfied. 

Duncan was in a forest, per usual. He was walking around, admiring the looming trees, wet grass and strangely crunchy leaves. Alongside the rain. Duncan came to a halt when he stepped on a a thin twig. And he could hear footsteps behind him. Then hands on his shoulders. And a whisper;

"You're responsible."

And then a blow to his head.

Duncan awoke In a cold sweat, panting. But as his thoughts started to process, he immediately jumped out of his bed and started to document his dream on his laptop. A quick escalation, but that had been the "norm" for awhile.

All three dreams, on Sunday, Tuesday and Wednesday had a pattern that didn't take a genius to recognise. The forest. The forest that Duncan knew so well, he knew it like the back of his palm. The forest was only one thing, but the other was the whispers. They were always present near the end of the dreams, and they were always sort of... vague. Responsible for what?

Sunday: "It's the same, always,"

Tuesday: "Both of them."

Wednesday: "You're responsible."

Both of them. Sunday and Tuesday seemed to reference eachother and that got Duncan thinking. Prior, he led Oscar, a friend into the woods and he went missing. So, were both of them Oscar and Travis? Were they whispering to him? No—, the voices sounded.. Young. Childlike.But also like teenagers. Like multiple voices at once. Duncan looked at his phone and tilted it upwards, switching it on. Battery one hundred. He took it off charge and swiped into into voicemail from Travis... yep. Didn't sound like a match.

Now, for the hard part. Oscar... didn't really speak when he was around. Duncan swiped through group chats, desperate to find an audio that could confirm a match between any of the voices in the mottled mix of whispers. 

Nothing. Fucking nothing.

Duncan stared down at his phone.

He could always try tomorrow, right?

Chapter Text

BEEP BEEP

Duncan slowly opened his eyes. Had he fallen asleep at his desk?

When Duncan finally adjusted his sight to a focus point, in front of him was indeed, his sketchbook. He groaned and leaned back in his chair, stretching as he did so. He yawned and reached his left hand towards his phone and pressed the yellow button saying, "Stop". Duncan was exhausted, but what was new? School was already hellish. Which is why Duncan didn't care if he was late or not, he knew how to forge a signature. It's not like he made a habit out of it, anyways.

Duncan rose from his chair and stepped over a black hoodie that desperately needed a wash. He approached red coloured drawers that were right next to the desk. He opened the middle drawer and scanned the messy assortment of shirts that were mostly, if not all, monochromatic. He picked out a grey shirt and threw it on his bed. He then leaned down, ignoring all the wrappers and general rubbish on the carpet, he lifted black trousers out of the drawer. He stared at them for a minute.

He was never really a fan of colour. Perhaps, he never found them interesting. Which, would be a lie because he loved mixing colours. He actually did like colours, he just never wore them. He looked terrible in them. But what didn't he look horrendous in? What? Colour or not, Duncan was, at least in his(and probably everyone at school's opinion) ugly.

Though, no one really told him that. Not to his face, but who would do that? Duncan thought for minute. He looked at a mirror in his room. Just under a white shelf stacked with books ranging from murder mystery series, paranormal findings and investigations, folktales and underneath was a fine sized mirror. Small, but not that small. The room wasn't originally his, so it's not like he had a say in removing or keeping that stupid mirror.

Duncan looked at his eyes' reflection. They were blue, droopy and had eye bags. Tired looking. His pale skin made him look almost vampirish, which also allowed his eye bags to be more prominent. There was some freckles on his cheeks. He looked at his red lips and opened his mouth. Uneven yellow teeth. His hair, a dirty blonde he was, was messier than ever. He skimmed his awkwardly placed nose, he had an aquiline nose, which meant he had a prominent bridge. His nose looked curved, in short.

His bony or skeleton hands. He was tall. Stretch marks. A long line of plasters on his left arm, one scar jutting out. Jutting out like his jaw did. He was a rather slim, slender even, guy. He always looked tired. His eyes were even puffy 75% of the time as a result of tears dropping, he cried himself to sleep sometimes. Near constantly.

Duncan turned his head, still trying to keep his eyes on the mirror, and his pointy ears came in sight. His nose, again. Duncan looked down at himself. Then he looked at the mirror and he would've broke it if he wasn't superstitious. 

Anger and envy were like a virus that Duncan couldn't shake, even if he tried to. He did try. He was always trying. But that anger and envy were an entity that wouldn't leave him. As if possessing him, giving him rage, jealousy and emptiness. The emptiness was the worst. He never felt complete, never felt alive, never felt like he had emotions. Often why he turned to stuff like food. Duncan wasn't okay, and he was aware but everyone was the same. They didn't or couldn't help! It was so annoying and made him feel even more worthless! He was stuck the way he was... forever. 

Duncan hated his school the most. He wore the same type of outfit, shirt and trousers with a hoodie. A hoodie, he was fishing out from his wardrobe. Duncan didn't have any reason to stand out or fit in, rendering him lonely and bullied. Well, the bullying wasn't severe. People were legitimately scared of Duncan. He had angry outbursts and dear God, those provoked fear in even staff. The staff. The teachers. The teachers who just wanted to help him. Just wanted to teach him. He was a monster, wasn't he?

A monster. A monster who couldn't hold a friendship. A monster who was so obsessed with a cult he offered sacrifices. 

Duncan had changed his clothes and used the last bit of his deodorant. Atleast he used deodorant which was antiperspirant, because some people didn't even use it! Of course, he wasn't speaking about those who didn't take care of themselves, he was talking about guys at his school who did take of themselves, but didn't use deodorant. So that was a plus, right? It was a small thing. But a good thing at least.

Duncan made his way out of his room, and quietly shut the door behind him. His eyes examined the white coloured walls, the light blue carpet, paintings, decorations, mirror, doors, lights, even some flowers. There was a lot in contrast to Duncan's room. He made his way over to the banister that was a dark oak, and wandered down the steps and onto the cold tiles of the hall.

The hallway had a white shelf with a cat ornament, and a small statue like image of a mother holding a baby. There was a cross hanging from a nail. The shelf also held a decorative mug, and a trophy that his father won. Duncan switched his gaze to the front door. And then the mauve walls. Then the black tiles. He led himself away from the hallway.

The kitchen had tiles, wooden table, chairs and counters. Some photographs. Duncan didn't pay much attention to the kitchen. There wasn't much to look at, mauve walls, tiles.. whatever, right? Duncan made his way over to a press and opened it. He grumbled upon realising his forgot his bag.

Duncan ran up the stairs, collecting his bag, phone and one of his books. He ran back downstairs and quickly took out his lunchbox. He had made himself a sandwich, put a yogurt with a spoon in it, a small smoothie and an apple. Weirdly, Duncan always packed stuff he didn't really like. It wasn't that weird to him. He was eccentric at times. Duncan would overeat, and then vomit it all up. So, to combat his habits, he packed stuff he didn't like that much.

Was it helpful? A little. But at least, it was something. It was a never-ending merry go round of something. Never something satisfactory, just something. 

Duncan barely brushed his teeth and hair before he set out the door. He climbed—well, walked up the hill outside his house near a flower bed and disappeared over a railing he had to jump over. He ignored the passers-bys that roamed the streets and paths. He got used to looking at the ground, kicking stones and listening to the grey pavement when his shoes came in contact with it.

Duncan was bored. Ah, the usual! There was nothing to look at, nothing to really think about or dream of. That was probably why Duncan had such a foggy, confused view on his hopes, goals and anything. If he's honest, he just didn't want to exist anymore. Howbeit, he was still going. Conceivably, an achievement. An achievement he was rather proud of, so that was something... even if it didn't feel like it.

Duncan neared the bus stop, and it had started raining. Duncan actually quite liked the rain. It was nice to listen to.

Every wait for the bus driver was the same. Duncan would pull out his phone, while other people who needed to catch the same bus waited alongside him. Duncan scrolled through chats with Travis, again. Everyone knew he was friends with Travis. What didn't others know? People talk. People talk alot. Duncan wanted to sew some people in particular's mouth shut so their obnoxious, skin crawling voice could leave his eardrums once and for all. 

Duncan sighed in relief as the white school bus pulled up. Duncan waited for a couple of girls, and two boys to get in before himself. Duncan made his way to one of the back seats. He propped his bag up on the isle seat. He searched one of his bag pockets and pulled out his earphones and stuck on some music to block out the noises of everyone else. His group were the second to get in the bus because of the routine, and the other group were obnoxious.

The bus jolted foward and started down the road. Duncan was seated near the window, and he was blindly looking as the rain dripped down the window. Duncan was zoned out the entire time, he didn't even notice the bus come to a halt.

"Yo Dunc, can I sit here?" A boy asked. The voice was familiar and therefore, Duncan took out his earphones and took his bag down.

"Heya, Mark."

Mark sat down happily, and two girls crashed at the opposite isle. The two girls were Isabella and Gabriela. Another boy had approached and Mark along with Duncan, smirked and giggled.

"Hey Sam!" Isabella waved, she pointed to a seat behind her and smiled back at him.

"You can sit there!" Sam listened, and he did.

Mark and Duncan shared a look, and then Mark turned to Sam.

"Heya," Mark had a flirtatious tone. He was a playful guy, unlike Duncan who was serious.

"...Hi," Sam replied in a hushed, raspy tone.

Duncan had a group of four, or three if you didn't include him. The group weren't outcasts or anything, they were a group who actually approached Duncan and then, Sam. Out of all the friends, Duncan actually hung out with Mark the most. The only reason he was still with the group, is because they showed interest in Wick. Wick was Duncan's pride and joy, and the four, though Sam and Isabella were quite hesitant and skeptical, supported his interest.

And like usual, Duncan created a plan. It was a dark, usual at that point, routine. Duncan organised to have all them enter the woods, Sam blindfolded and leave him to his own devices whilst playing Wick.

Sam was a quiet, shy boy. He had social anxiety or something aswell. He was ginger with curly, medium-length hair. He was light-skinned with one green and blue eye. He kept to his own business, and never bothered anyone. Sam typically wore a red crewneck, and loose fitting jeans with white shoes. Sam had reading glasses and he had a bag that was precisely packed in a certain way. Sam was quite anxious and was very emotional.

Mark, was outrightly the opposite. He was tall, not like Duncan who was about 6'0 or something, he couldn't remember the last time he checked. Mark had black hair in a wolf cut, a dyed blue and red streak. He sported a rock band, long shirt over a black long-sleeved shirt. He had beige cargo pants. Braces, and alot of acne. Mark regularly had a watch on hand. He was social, a little messy and lazy at times, but very flirty and playful.

Isabella was short, and had a muffin top. She was best friends with Gabriela, and like Mark with Sam and literally everyone, they jokingly flirted with eachother. Isabella had brown hair that was styled in a Dutch braid, she was mixed. She had amber eyes and a button nose. She wore a knitted jumper that was mauve and purple striped. Isabella wore black leggings and runners. She was a nice girl, on the naive and playful side.

Gabriela was actually more resilient and headstrong.Her and Duncan didn't really get along to a point they had almost constant arguments. Gabriela was Puerto-Rican. She had vitiligo, blue eyes, coily black hair that was short. She was a metal fan and all the time, she had red headphones on her. She was clothed in a grey polo shirt, a black jacket and wore cargo pants. She possessed a temper and was a very morally drive person.

All of them had something Travis had. Shit, Duncan needed to stop thinking about that. In response to that thought Duncan resorted to listening to his friends' conversation.

"Looking good!" Mark did finger guns at Sam, he chuckled awkwardly. It was obviously forced, but Sam didn't wanna be rude.

"Thanks," Sam replied.

"I mean it," Mark then turned his eye to Gabriela and chuckled as she glared. He turned back to Sam, "I like your shirt."

Duncan let out a low groan. He knew where that was going. Mark and his fucking jokes. Duncan was not in the mood.

"Oh-" Sam moved some hair out of his face. He looked at Gabriela and Isabella, confused.

"But, it'd look better on my bedroom floor."

At that moment, Duncan wished he was still friends with Travis because atleast he knew of some—not many, but some actual good jokes. Duncan ignored everything else and waited for the bus to arrive at school. He wanted to go home, and research more about Travis' disappearance and relation to Wick. He was so tired on top of that.

Reaching school, then going to his locker, then his first few classes felt so surreal for a lost in thought Duncan. He was doodling in maths. He was drawing and sketching in English. He was zoned out in Spanish. He was waiting until he could go home. Every ring of the bell was like a calling. Duncan had strolled over to a bench, alone and pulled out his lunchbox.

The bench was something Duncan hated, but was familiar with. It was where Travis used to sit. Travis was alone all the time. The only people who approached him were only there to harass him. Travis was a bullied guy. Duncan had noticed that, and took advantage of the fact Travjs had no friends. No friends, as in absolutely none.

They had met in art, but never became friends until Duncan needed a sacrifice and lured Travis in. Travis was naive and impressionable, a bit of a bastard and highly playful. Nonetheless, he was still a somewhat good friend. Their friendship was toxic, obviously. Duncan's BPD made everything harder on both of them and Travis was co-dependent. But, they pulled through until... Travis couldn't anymore. He cut ties with Duncan, and then went missing. Duncan was interested in Travis' case specifically because... well, it was recent and ever since, Duncan had been getting more nightmares.

Even before Halloween, but they were short snippets of Duncan walking in a woods with someone breathing down his neck.

Duncan ate his sandwich and tried not to gag as he did. One thought lingered in his head.

"Maybe in another life, me and Travis could actually have a normal friendship."

Chapter Text

Duncan was furious.

No leads. No anything. No nothing he wanted or needed to know. It was going to make him go crazy and God... that wouldn't be the first time. Fuck his overworking habit! Duncan was losing his mind slowly but surely. That was a hyperbole, obviously.