Fear Alone, G, Gen

[steins_stories]

Title: Fear Alone
Author: steinsgrrl
Fandom: Tokio Hotel
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I in no way intend to insinuate that any of the below actually happened. It is simply a piece of written entertainment based on the public personas of real people.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: In the middle of the night, with the wind howling and something scratching at his window, Bill desperately wished Tom wasn't still at camp.
Author's Note: Banner by tokiobillhotel. Beta by ma_chelle This wasn't written for Halloween, but is the result of reading the Halloween story thread at Fark for the last couple days. Like our dear Georg, I'm always a little tardy. :)


Bill’s eyes popped open, staring wide at a ceiling he couldn’t see.

There it was again. That tapping. Wait, no. Scratching.

Scratching against his window. Of his second story window.

The wind howled around the house, making eerie sounds through his window and Bill went rigid. He wanted to burrow further down into his blankets, wanted to dive under them but his limbs seemed frozen, too numb to move. His heart beat frantically in his chest, drumming out a rhythm that was far from natural and he held his breath until his lungs began to burn.

Bill desperately wished he’d turned on his night light. It seemed he could hear for miles, his ears straining hard, so when he heard the thump on the bare, wooden floor of the hallway, his heart nearly jumped right out of his chest. He heard footsteps and something dragging behind them and he whimpered before pressing his lips together tightly.

Whatever had been scraping at his window had moved inside and was coming down the hall!

His lips moved in a frantic mantra, no sound escaping them because no way was he attracting that thing, whatever it was, into his room.

“Tom, Tom, Tom, TomTomTom…”

But there was no Tom to run to this night. Tom was still off at summer camp. Tom wouldn’t be here until tomorrow, and now Bill almost wished that he’d stayed at camp with Tom.

He’d hated it. Bill wasn’t much for running and sports and swimming. He didn’t care about girls to flirt with or campfires or s’mores. All he needed was Tom and his music and something to write his lyrics on. And lots of time alone (or with Tom) to write them.

So he’d called Simone every day, whining about coming home. He pleaded and cried at her until the camp counselors had stepped in and gently suggested to her that maybe summer camp wasn’t the best place for Bill. They’d even offered to refund half her money, which Simone had accepted, chagrined because she figured they were essentially paying her to take Bill off their hands.

Bill was ecstatic.

The only thing he wasn’t ecstatic about was the fact that Tom was staying at camp without him. Bill had thought Tom would automatically want to go home with him and had not even bothered to ask him about it. When he’d told his brother that they were going home, Tom had looked at him with a frown.

”I don’t want to go home.” Tom crossed his arms in front of his chest and lifted his chin.

Bill’s mouth hung open in shock. “What do you mean, you don’t want to go home? I’m going home.”

“Yeah, you’re going home. Fine. But I’m not going.” Tom looked away, watching the rest of the campers head down to the lake for canoe lessons. Bill could see the longing and excitement in his eyes and he finally realized that Tom was really enjoying himself here.

“But,” Bill stuttered. “I thought…where I go, you go. Where you go, I go.” He was honestly bewildered, because the twins had never chosen to be separate before. It never occurred to him that Tom might not go with him.

“Obviously not. You didn’t ask me if I wanted to go, Bill. If you had, I’d have told you that I don’t want to. I like the games here, I like the swimming and picking up a game of basketball anytime without worrying about getting an elbow in the face like back home. And they let my play my guitar at the campfires. Even if I make a mistake sometimes, no one gives me shit about it.” Tom scuffed at the grass with his sneaker. “Not like you ever came to one to see me play.”

And he hadn’t. Bill had known from the beginning that he didn’t want to be here. When Simone had suggested it and Tom had jumped at the idea, Bill had gone along, but he’d never really let himself get involved. Not even going to the campfires. He didn’t even know they’d let his brother play guitar there.

“Look, I gotta go. They’re waiting for me.” Tom looked at him one last time, raising his hand in a half wave as he turned toward the docks. “Guess I’ll see you at home.”

As Bill watched his brother trot away from him, Bill waved at Tom sadly, his hand dropping limply to his side as he wondered what the hell had just happened.

Now Bill really, really wished Tom had come home with him. He wanted Tom here, with his arms wrapped around him while Bill curled into him and hid his eyes, his face from whatever it was that made the thump and drag noise in the hall.

He thought about running to his parents room, but ruled that notion out as soon as it entered his head. They were sleeping in the basement tonight, just having repainted their room today. There was no way he wanted to run through the whole house to get to them! Besides, his mom hadn’t been with Gordon very long and it gave Bill a strange feeling in his stomach to think about crawling into bed between them. Not that he didn’t like Gordon; he did. He wasn’t scared of him or anything. The idea would have made him snort if he wasn’t so damn terrified of that thing hearing him. No, Bill wasn’t scared of Gordon. If anything, he didn’t want Gordon to think he was a big baby.

Then Bill heard a doorknob rattle and squeaked, sucking in his breath even harder and tearing out of his bed so fast he barely mussed the covers. He dove for the closet, throwing it open and closing it behind him as quietly as he could. He buried himself amongst the shoes and gloves on the floor of the closet, stuff his mom had been nagging at him to clean up for the last month or more. Bill pushed them away with his feet, clearing a spot for him to sit. He butted his back against the wall, hard and cold against his skin and he shivered, bringing his knees up to his chest and holding them tight against him.

He didn’t want Gordon to think he was a big baby because that’s exactly what he’d whined at Gordon about earlier. His step-father and Simone were going to watch a scary movie earlier and Bill had begged them to let him watch with them. Now Bill was thinking that had been a pretty stupid idea.

”Please, Gordon! Please?” Bill pleaded, standing before his step-father, twisting his fingers into his blue striped pajama pants, the ones he wore on really hot summer nights. “I promise I won’t be scared.”

Gordon glanced up from restringing his guitar. “Bill, you get scared if you don’t have a night light on in your room. You think it’s a good idea for someone just afraid of the dark to watch a horror movie? With monsters and blood and—“

“Gordon!” Simone scolded from the door to the kitchen. “Bill, we don’t think it’s a good idea. You’re way too young to be watching shows like that.”

“Am not!” Bill pouted. “Besides, it’s just ghosts. Ghosts aren’t real. I’m not dumb,” he mumbled. “And I’m not too young. I’m not a baby!” He glared at Gordon and his mom, his lips set, his eyes defiant.

Gordon scoffed and Bill watched, annoyed, as some sort of silent communication passed between his parents. He crossed his arms and huffed, plopping down onto the couch next to his step-father.

“Fine.” Simone wiped her hands on the towel she’d had slung over her shoulder. “Fine, Bill. You can watch it.”

Bill pumped his fist, hissing a quiet, “Yessss!”

“But!” Simone leveled a look at him. “I don’t want to hear it if you have bad dreams tonight. You’re making your choice here, you have to live with the consequences.”

“I will, I will! I won’t have bad dreams, I promise.” Bill grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch and curled into the cushions as Gordon thumbed the remote and the television screen blinked on.

That was hours ago and now here Bill was, sitting in his closet, vibrating with fear. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and ran from his armpits, tickling his sides in their chilly path. His feet were freezing and his bladder was near bursting. He desperately wished he hadn’t drank so much spetzi with the popcorn his mom had made for him.

He licked his lips and pulled his legs up closer, hugging them as hard as his thin arms could manage. The movement pressed on his bladder but it was somehow soothing and made Bill think he could hold it for a long time; until morning, if necessary.

The door handle to his room rattled and Bill’s heart nearly stopped completely.

He heard it creak open, heard the scuffing footsteps of someone coming into his room and a soft dragging sound following them. The door clicked closed behind whatever thing had come to murder him in his sleep and Bill began to pant.

He tried to slow his breaths, tried to keep it down and quiet and maybe whatever it was wouldn’t be able to find him. He pictured some horrible monster in his head, carrying a body bag with one mutilated hand and wearing a razor sharp glove on the other, and he whimpered and jammed his forehead to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and whispered fervently, “TomiTomiTomiTomi.”

Bill heard an answering whisper in the darkness of his room, filtering through the cracks of his hideaway. He couldn’t understand it…didn’t want to understand it. He just wanted it to go away. He wanted the monster to go away, he wanted to pee, he wanted his brother home. He wished so hard he hadn’t left Tom and come home by himself. Bill just wasn’t any good without Tom; he didn’t feel right or whole or anything without Tom, except now he was terrified without him. Unconsciously, he whispers grew louder, as if he could make Tom come running to him with the just power of his need and his fear.

The door handle turned and Bill abruptly stopped whispering. He stopped whispering and breathing and he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating, too.

This was it. He was going to die, all alone, shaking in his damn closet like a little baby. He never even got to say a proper goodbye to his brother and he was going to die and Tom would never know how much Bill had missed him.

The closet door swung open and Bill threw back his head and screamed. He screamed loudly, his voice hoarse from fear, tears running down his cheeks from tightly shut eyes.

The thing holding the door open screamed, then, too, and Bill nearly wet himself. Suddenly, he was being grabbed into a bear hug. It was going to squeeze him to death and Bill fought and kicked out, screaming “NO!” over and over, until he realized that the thing that had hold of him, this monster, was making comforting, cooing noises in his ear.

Bill stilled, all the fight going out of him and dared to open his eyes. It took him a moment to focus, blinded momentarily by the light flooding in from his room, but when he did, he punched the “monster” on the arm.

“Tom! What the fuck!” Bill hit his brother again. “You scared the hell out of me!” He pushed Tom back against the other wall of the closet, glaring at him.

Tom snorted as Bill took a big, shuddering breath. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re not supposed to be back until tomorrow, that’s what the hell is wrong with me! Now you come home in the middle of the night and make me think some big, nasty…something broke in and…” Bill trailed off, realizing now Tom was going to realize what a pussy he was. That was even worse than Gordon thinking he was a baby.

Tom laughed and Bill felt the blood rush to his face. “Erik’s parents were bringing him home and offered to take me, too. Save mom a trip. I thought I’d sneak in and surprise you.”

“You did? I mean, you surprised me, alright. What were you gonna do?” Bill shivered again and wished he’d have worn a tee shirt to bed. Tom was next to him in an instant with his arms held open and Bill snuggled right into them. He started to warm immediately and he leaned close to dip his face into Tom's neck. His tee shirt was rough cotton and scratchy on his nose but Bill didn’t care. He inhaled Tom's scent deeply and realized home didn’t smell like home without Tom's scent around him. Bill should have never left him at camp alone.

“Uh…probably just climbed into bed with you. I, um.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand and Bill could feel Tom's cheek, hot against Bill’s forehead. “I kinda missed you after you left, you know.”

“I missed you, too,” Bill whispered, and tried to wrap his arms around Tom's waist. Tom nudged him off and started to stand up, shushing Bill’s noises of protest.

“C’mon, let’s get into bed. I brought my blanket, too, and you can get warmer that way.” He took Bill’s hand and helped him up.

As soon as Bill stood up, the pain in his bladder hit him. Of course, he still had to go. But it was dark in the hallway and he didn’t want to go alone. Yeah, he knew that there was no monster, it had only been Tom, but he was still shaky enough that he’d be looking over his shoulder the whole time. He didn’t know if he’d even be able to pee like that.

“Tom, I have to pee.” Bill started bouncing from foot to foot.

“So go pee.” Tom spread his blanket over Bill’s bed and pulled one side back for them to climb in.

“Come with me.”

“What? Just hurry up so you can get back here. I’m tired, Bill.” Tom climbed inside the blankets, moving over to give Bill enough room.

“No, come on, Tom! Come with me. It’s…dark.” Bill glanced toward the door and he heard the desperation in his own voice.

Tom looked at him incredulously. “I really scared you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did! Whatever you dropped in the hallway scared the shit out of me. Your bag?” Tom nodded and Bill carried on, frantically, “Between that and hearing you coming in with your blanket dragging behind you, and the horrible scratching on my window, I was pretty damn scared. And now, Tom, I have to pee. So fine, have it your way; I’m going!”

Bill was ready to lose what little bladder control he had. To hell with it; if Tom wouldn’t go with him, he’d go on his own. But he’d run, because he wasn’t letting any damn anything that might be lurking in the dark get to him, and he certainly wasn’t going to pee in his pajamas.

Tom sat in bed, wide eyed from Bill’s rant. “Scratching? On the window?” He knew damn well he hadn’t done that. There weren’t even any trees outside Bill’s window. Tom's breath caught in his chest and he looked around warily.

The wind moaned, rattling the window behind him, and the lights blinked off. Tom screamed and he bolted, his feet getting caught in the blankets. He tumbled off the bed and yelled again, “Bill!” He struggled in the darkness to free his feet and when he did, he jumped up, threw the door open and flew into the hallway, yelling the whole way. “Bill!”