"No particular way, no," he murmurs. "Anything would do." Really, a wall would do, if they could find one, but he doesn't want to have to explain that right now. He wanders further into the darkness, trying to quell his own fears, slow the pounding of his heart, but he's so sure, he's so sure something terrible is going to happen, something will find them, that thing that lives in the darkest parts of his memory, or in the house (and really, what's the difference), or anything else, there's so many monsters in him, really, why does he even try to help anyone when he's so poisonous to the touch.
And then, whether to justify his fears or simply summoned by them, he hears something, the scrape of a footstep, too distant to be either of them. He halts sharply, stretching out an arm to stop Greta, and listens, holding the lighter out and around, wishing the glow reached further.
No more sounds for now, but that doesn't mean anything. He can only hear himself breathing faintly.
"Don't move," he whispers, and takes a few cursory steps, not getting too far from her, just - testing. Will it echo him? Will it show itself? (Did he imagine it?)
Nothing. For a long time, nothing. Finally, warily, he turns back to her, he needs to tell her something, tell her to keep an ear out, but he shouldn't have turned, obviously, that was enough. Hands grasp him from behind, knocking the lighter to the ground - miraculously it stays lit, casting a dim glow over him as he's tugged down to the floor, one hand around pressed over his mouth and the other on his throat. He screams, muffled, flailing out to get a hit in, and in the faint flickering light he sees the outline of a too-familiar face, the glint of those eyes and white teeth in a predator grin - Zagreus, waiting for him of course, hovering in the shadows, and he walked right into it.
He writhes and struggles wildly but it's not enough, the hand pressing too hard around his throat, forcibly against his mouth and his nose, he can't breathe, he just prays Greta will do the smart fucking thing and grab the lighter and run, Zagreus doesn't care about her, doesn't have to know she's there, and if Johnny's snuffed out then she'll be free of the house too, probably, maybe let into something better, something that's hers, minus the giant.
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And then, whether to justify his fears or simply summoned by them, he hears something, the scrape of a footstep, too distant to be either of them. He halts sharply, stretching out an arm to stop Greta, and listens, holding the lighter out and around, wishing the glow reached further.
No more sounds for now, but that doesn't mean anything. He can only hear himself breathing faintly.
"Don't move," he whispers, and takes a few cursory steps, not getting too far from her, just - testing. Will it echo him? Will it show itself? (Did he imagine it?)
Nothing. For a long time, nothing. Finally, warily, he turns back to her, he needs to tell her something, tell her to keep an ear out, but he shouldn't have turned, obviously, that was enough. Hands grasp him from behind, knocking the lighter to the ground - miraculously it stays lit, casting a dim glow over him as he's tugged down to the floor, one hand around pressed over his mouth and the other on his throat. He screams, muffled, flailing out to get a hit in, and in the faint flickering light he sees the outline of a too-familiar face, the glint of those eyes and white teeth in a predator grin - Zagreus, waiting for him of course, hovering in the shadows, and he walked right into it.
He writhes and struggles wildly but it's not enough, the hand pressing too hard around his throat, forcibly against his mouth and his nose, he can't breathe, he just prays Greta will do the smart fucking thing and grab the lighter and run, Zagreus doesn't care about her, doesn't have to know she's there, and if Johnny's snuffed out then she'll be free of the house too, probably, maybe let into something better, something that's hers, minus the giant.