⚠️: canon violence [a lot of it on Jonathan, dude kinda got his ass kicked for a minute there 😬] and graphic descriptions of gore, and death. really, this whole chapter is filled with it. finally, much less important, a new girl reference lol

📝: not that i'm trying any shameless self promotion here but after this chapter feel free to check out STARDUST on my account! 😂 it's essentially a book of COSMIC bonus features inclusive to every pronoun copy of COSMIC, with stuff like bloopers, fanart, and maybe, maybe interview spoofs featuring yourself. i'll be posting deleted scenes from the flayed in STARDUST as well :)

❓: can't remember if i asked this already or not, but - other than updates - do you have any questions for me about any of my stories? or just me in general?

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Nancy and Jonathan hadn't wasted any time in their dash for Mrs. Driscoll's room and yet they still found nothing but disappointment upon finding her empty room. Not to mention the empty halls and scattered papers did nothing to ease their minds. The sight they found did no favors either; the bed was empty, the sheets scattered and hanging off the mattress. And most unsettling of all was the knocked-over vase of flowers that was steadily dripping water onto the bed.

"Where is she?" Jonathan couldn't help but ask.

Nancy hurried forward and glanced over her chart. "I don't know,"

"Are you sure this is the right room?"

"Yeah,"

Both their heads picked up at the sudden flickering of the lights.

"She's gone home,"

The pair whirled around to face the doorway at the sudden, familiar voice. The figure to have darkened their path was none other than their boss, Tom Holloway, his hands dripping with blood.

He smiled at them, his eyes far away and cold. Blank. "We were hoping you might come back," He took his first few steps into the room, and the duo took their first few steps back.

"Who's blood is that?" Jonathan asked, hoping to distract the man if even for a moment. He stepped further in front of Nancy in a protective stance.

"Tom," Nancy urged, but Tom was closing in on them. "Whatever you've done, it's not you. He's making you do this!"

Jonathan wasn't waiting around any longer for the man to clear his conscience. And in the blink of an eye, he had snatched the ceramic vase and smashed it over the man's head, sending the man crashing into the wall. Wasting not even a moment, he grabbed Nancy's hand and they sprinted for the door.

They hadn't gotten far. Only the threshold when they skidded to a halt at the sight of yet another flayed co-worker of theirs; Bruce Lowe. Like Tom, his clothes were disheveled and torn, his hands and wrists covered in dried blood. As he stood under the sickly strobing lights, he clutched at his temple where an intricate array of dark sludge pulsed through his veins. His lips then split into a manic smirk and he gave a small tilt of the head.

"Owie,"

"GO! GO! GO!" Jonathan was already herding Nancy out the door to the stairwell before Bruce stalked after them.

Nancy flew down the stairs much slower than she would have liked, Jonathan not far behind her. He had turned to slam the door shut and was on her heels in moments. "Run!" She cried. "Run, come on!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Yeah!"

El looked up from where she was lounging, magazine in hand, to a cheering Lucas and Max. He was giving one of her best friends a round of applause as her mouth caught the candy he tossed in the air. El was still trying to figure out how Lucas had managed to pull Max away from her so effortlessly where they now stood at the vending machines.

At least she had Y/n.

The two met eyes in a smile, her attention briefly pulled away from Will when she felt a pair of eyes on her. She looked as if she were about to say something - perhaps invite her to scoot down a few seats to join them when Mike came into view. She quickly tore her eyes away as Mike sat himself beside her, unknowingly missing the subtle, pleading look he sent the couple's way.

Mike nearly thought Y/n'd say something given the disappointment hidden in her eyes as she thought it over. But in the next moment, she had grabbed Will's hand and the two rose from their seats, crossing the room, snacks in hand to the other set of chairs.

"Hey," said Mike.

El still had yet to meet his eyes. She was watching as Will struggled to bite into his Starbursts. 'They're like rocks,' he complained. Y/n laughed and took a few in hand, her eyes darting around for any onlookers before squeezing them in her hands and heating them up, softening the candy. She handed it back to Will and he chuckled and thanked her.

It all happened within seconds, but it made the distance she had been feeling all the more real. And perhaps it's why she allowed herself to respond to Mike.

"Hi," she said, her voice flat and cautious.

He sheepishly held up a packet of candy. "Does your species like M&M's?"

The expression El gave him was unreadable. But Mike took it as a good sign when she held out her cupped hand. He shook a handful of M&M's into her palm and for the first time in a long time, she smiled at him. As always, her smile was infectious. He just as soon found himself grinning into his lap as she was grinning into hers.

"I like your new look by the way," he says. "It's cool."

She took a bite of the mini chocolate and savored the sweetness of this moment. "Thanks," she grinned, feeling her cheeks light up in a blush.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

BAM

The door to the stairwell is thrown open, disturbing the humming of the flickering lights and the otherwise silence. Nancy and Jonathan's footsteps flood the hall as they attempt a mad dash for their lives. One cautioned glance over their shoulders told them Bruce has entered the hallway after them. He walks as if he has all the time in the world.

He walks as if he knows he will have them either way.

Neither of them have time to react to the multitude of bodies lying in their own blood around every other corner. Lest they surely become one themselves.

"This way! This way!"

The pair finds themselves in an abandoned wing of the hospital. It had been marked off for construction, but perhaps there was another exit that could help them. Their battle for breath as they sprinted through the mazes never ceased. It overlapped the slamming of double doors as they threw them open where they found themselves at a crossroads.

"Nancy!" Cried Jonathan, motioning to the intercom system he was already activating. "Hello? Hello?!"

"Here!" She called, yanking on the back of his shirt in an attempt to pull him with.

They dashed into the nearest room and for the emergency phone that Nancy had spotted through the glass window. The automatic dial was already ringing the front desk by the time Jonathan got the door closed and locked. She turned hopefully and hopelessly out of breath to the Byers boy.

"It's ringing!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"I don't care how good her pie is," replied the receptionist, all too unaware of the blinking light on her call line begging to be answered. "No, I don't want her in my damn house,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Come on, pick up!"

Hissing reached their ears and their eyes returned to the flickering lights growing far more intense. Which meant Bruce was closing in.

"Nancy?"

The shattering of glass silenced any further warning Jonathan had planned, and the two yelped. Terror rattled their very bones as they saw a bloodied fist retract from the broken window and replace itself with Bruce's haunting, splintering face.

"Hi there," he grinned, his voice low and gruff. He reached for the lock and opened the door. "I'm here for you, Nancy Drew."

Nancy let out a frightened gasp, unable to hold it back. Her mind was racing with options; there was no chance of running around him without being caught and there were few options within her reach that she could hit him with that would buy her and Jonathan enough time. Maybe if she grabbed the phone--

Jonathan had stepped up in his racing adrenaline, throwing his right fist at the man's face before she could decide. But the only thing he succeeded in doing was getting himself caught. Bruce had snatched the boy's neck in his hands without ever taking his eyes off of Nancy. He throttled Jonathan's throat like it was nothing, his face already turning purple when Nancy went wide-eyed in fear.

"NO!" She screamed, throwing herself into the man's large build in an attempt to knock him off balance. Or at the very least, distract him enough for Jonathan to slip free.

She felt her ribs collide with the wall faster than she could process anything, the tray of steel tools and trays on the cart beside her were the only things to slow her fall to the ground. He had thrown her across the room in one shove with his one free hand. The steel material's crashed over her already stunned body like a small avalanche. She lay there, the wind knocked straight out of her lungs and her very bones felt like they were buzzing.

Bruce brought his free hand around Jonathan's neck and squeezed, watching the boy struggle with a clenched smile. And then he swung. In one hammer throw, he was flung across the room and into the cabinets. The metal and glass cabinets had unfortunately halted him in his airborne path and dropped him straight to the ground. And like Nancy, he lay there, twisting and groaning as he attempted to find air. Completely unaware of Bruce picking up an all-metal stool nearby.

Bruce's long legs helped him stride across the room to Jonathan in less than two steps, the stool raised high above his head ready to strike. Nancy had barely regained her senses when she spotted Jonathan struggling to bring himself to his hands and knees, seconds away from another tragic blow.

"JONATHAN-!"

She was too late. Two of the four legs collide with his back, sending a shock of pain shooting up his spine as he fell back into the tile in agony. The man was too tempted with finishing off his kill to notice Nancy scrambling to her feet. Thinking quickly, she grabbed a long pair of surgical shears off the cart she had fallen into and made her stride across the room.

Seconds before Bruce could deliver the final blow to Jonathan's skull, an angered voice roared over his shoulder as Nancy plunged the shears into his left shoulder. The only cry of pain he could give in his deteriorating state was a ghoulish, animalistic grunt as spit and black blood oozed from his lips. Where blood should have been, trickled nothing but black sludge down his shoulder, staining his shirt.

He stumbled back, dropping the stool at his side where it missed Jonathan, and turned to face his attacker. He ripped the shears out of his flesh with nothing but a twitch of his eye. He seethed at the young woman.

"You bitch," he hissed.

"Nancy!" Jonathan couldn't help but cry. "RUN!"

She was already backing away for the door, not daring to take her sights off of the man. In a last-ditch attempt to slow him down, she grabbed the roll-away cart and shoved it directly into his legs before ripping open the door and scampering down the hall.

"Help! HELP!"

Never daring to slow her pace, she threw her glance over her shoulder yet again to find him trudging after down the hall.

She cried out again.

"HELP! IS ANYONE HERE?!"

But only one hears her cries; Bruce Lowe, deranged and disheveled. He wears a wicked grin as he stalks after her in the flickering hospital hallway.

"Nancy~," he jeers. His voice carries down the halls in a haunting echo.

She throws herself around the next corner, colliding with the wall in the process. A flash of red catches her eye on her way into the door. Without thinking twice, she rips the fire extinguisher off the wall and disappears into the temporary safety of the nearest room, slamming the door behind her.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The room had only just stopped spinning and Jonathan finally collected enough strength to reach out for the discarded stool. Bruce was long gone but that's what terrified him. His determination to secure Nancy's safety was enough of a motivation to summon what strength he had in fixing the stool up on its legs and hoisting himself up with trembling limbs.

He had nearly made it to his knees when yet again, his breath was knocked out of his chest as he met the ground. A foot had reached his side of the room and kicked the stool away. Against his better judgment, Jonathan craned his head up to meet the gaze of his next attacker. It was the same man they had encountered in Mrs. Driscoll's room. The same man they had just previously escaped.

"Where are you going?" Tom chuckled.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Furiously, Nancy's head whipped around the room in search of an idea, her hair flying around and sticking to the blood and sweat that now coated her skin. Her eyes finally land on a wall of mint green divider curtains and wild, half-formed thoughts swarm her head.

Fire extinguisher still in hand, she dashes behind the farthest curtain, ripping it closed behind her. As these precious few, undisturbed moments pass her by to catch her breath, she can't bring herself to savor them. The reality of the last few minutes finally crashes over her. She won't even dare allow herself to blink, let alone give in to the devastating guilt for leaving Jonathan behind. Even still, a single hot tear leaks from her eye and slips down her cheek in the time it takes her to form a plan.

Bruce had found her just as easy. After all, there was only one door at the end of this little corner. As he reached the small plated window on the door, his eyes lit up in mischievous delight faster than his smile.

Funny thing, curtains moving on their own.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jonathan was yanked to his feet by two coarse and bloodied hands coiled around his neck. He dreaded what came next, but it wasn't enough to stop it. Just as it had happened moments earlier, a flayed boss of his threw him across the room and into another steel cabinet where he collapsed to the floor.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Now thoroughly enjoying this game of cat and mouse, Bruce took his time in opening the door with the push of just one finger. He took a step inside, his eyes raking the many curtains laid out before him. He delighted himself in the little puzzle, like his own twisted Monty Hall problem.

He called out to her in a sing-song voice. "Yoo-hoo~! Nancy Drew, where are you~?"

He stalked forward with budding anticipation. Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a look at what's behind curtain number one?

He yanks back the cloth and chuckles darkly when he finds an empty space.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jonathan had barely enough time to groan in pain before another set of hands tightened around his shirt collar and heaved him back onto his toes. He hadn't the time nor the energy at this point to fight back - in time, at least - before he was flung into the metal cart. Both toppled to the ground in a clattering heap.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Nancy~"

Perhaps... curtain number two?

He tsked his tongue when he was met with yet another empty find. But Little Nancy Drew's luck was running thin. There was only one hiding spot left.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The world was blurry and fading. He was having a hard time making out what was up and what was down. But Jonathan wasn't ready to stop fighting. Not when a small, ooze-soaked glimmer of hope caught his eye just inches away from his fingertips.

He crawled towards the shears with little time left. But Tom had gotten to him first. With one hand in the roots of his hair and the other on his collar, he pulled the boy up before slamming him into the ground and into unconsciousness.

The sound of struggle had faded out, leaving the empty silence that was soon disturbed by the prolonged scraping of the shears dragging on the floor as Tom picked them up.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Marco~"

Another empty curtain.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Shears in hand, Tom raises his new weapon far above his head, ready to strike--

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Marco!"

"POLO!"

In a flash, Nancy emerged from a divider on the other side of the room - extinguisher in hand, fire in her eyes. In one precise swing, the butt-end of the extinguisher connected with the man's nose where it caved into his skull and--

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

--knocked Tom back. He staggered as the agonizing blow delivered unto Bruce had reached his own system; a fault of the hive mind. The shears fell from his hands and clattered on the ground inches from Jonathan's face. It took great strength for Jonathan to open his eyes and peer up at the man as he--

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

--pawed at his lip with a groan. His teeth were shattered and half-gone and the poisoned blood from his nose was gushing into his mouth. His face had darkened, not so much in rage as it had from the blackened veins spreading out from his nose and all over his face.

Turning the tables, it was Nancy who gave him no time to retaliate before she delivered the uppercut that--

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

--sent him crashing to the ground. Tom's vein-painted face contorted in anguish as he groaned, giving Jonathan time to grab the shears.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Bruce stumbled forward and Nancy raised the extinguisher higher in defense. But no attack came. He collapsed to his knees before her and hope kindled in her chest as she rose her weapon far above her head.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Tom and Jonathan stumbled to their feet where they now stood eye to eye.

It was now or never.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Nancy hissed the words with a fire that had long since been kindling in her heart, "Go--" She raised the extinguisher higher, "to--" and with every satisfaction, delivered the fatal blow. "hell!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

With the sickening sound of tearing flesh, Jonathan plunged the surgical shears into Tom's throat.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Bruce crumbled to the ground, the silence filled with the sound of the man--

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

--choking on his dying breaths.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Nancy gawked at the sight before her. Never before in her lifetime had she--

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

--taken a human life. Jonathan could see it happening for himself, whatever dimming light of humanity that was already smothered out by the Mind Flayer was dying. And he had snuffed it out. He knew it was self-defense but that didn't stop reality from hitting him hard.

And to his horror and disgust, the fading man tumbled to his knees. His last words were nothing but muffled groans before he fell forward, driving the shears further into his throat and finishing the job.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The fire extinguisher fell from her hands and crashed to the ground with a shuddering clang. As it all sank in, her body released a single sob; she couldn't quite tell if it was in horror, disgust, or relief. Most likely a combination of all three, nevertheless, she took this moment to breathe. Breath, she told herself. She was alive. At least for now.

And then it happened again.

It was a sign a select few in Hawkins knew all too well.

The lights began to flicker - they began to buzz louder and louder until the buzzing turned to hissing. Both Nancy and Jonathan turned to the lights, dread building a home in their guts as the lights burned brighter and brighter and then--

It all went black.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

A somewhat reconciled Mike and El now sat together in between (almost) all their friends. For the first time in a very long time, they were all engaged with one another. Pointing out ridiculous things in their magazines, laughing with one other, enjoying one another as a party. But Will had fallen quiet not that long ago.

Only moments earlier, Y/n had turned to him, showing concern as she picked up his hand in her own.

"You alright?" She had asked, her voice low enough only he could hear.

He tried to give her a smile - put her mind at ease - but it wasn't very convincing. And he knew it. Something felt off, and as much as he didn't want to worry her, he couldn't risk not voicing his concerns. Not any longer.

"They've been gone a while," he told her. "Don't you think something would have happened by now?"

Upon hearing this, she let the words sink in. It was true. They had been gone for several minutes. Granted, they had all improvised and there was no plan of action - no predetermined form of communication. But surely there would have been some sort of sign. Some way for them to know when to step in.

If only they knew.

If only they knew when to stop questioning the silence.

At that moment it happened. The very air around them shifted and they were plunged into darkness in flashes. It had started small, at first. A tiny flicker in a bulb in the far right corner across the room. Will's eyes jumped to light with skepticism. And it stopped again, just long enough for him to grasp just a crumb of hope. Then it grew bolder.

Little flickers here and there. Enough to trap his attention for good. Y/n's too, though she was more focused on Will.

She could feel her heart beating a little harder as her eyes jumped between Will and the lights. It always went back to Will and the lights, so it would seem.

In a cautious daze, he rose to his feet and peered up at the strobing bulbs. They were hissing with energy as if they were mocking him.

As if mocking him and the icy chill settling into his system and raising the hair on the back of his neck.

"Guys," he turned to his friends. His expression was grim and worried, and it got their attention. "Something's wrong."

And then the lights cut.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

When they returned, they burned brighter than ever, illuminating the corpses of Tom and Bruce to their respective attackers.

They were gone, thought the kids. They had to be! They were out of the woods.

But they quickly learned they had only won the battle. And the war was on their horizon.

They were still in separate rooms but it happened all at once, almost in perfect sync. The bodies began to groan like nothing they had ever heard before - they began to shake and jitter like thousands of volts of electricity were coursing through their blackened veins. All the while, the dazed and traumatized children stumbled back and around the anomaly with great caution.

Something was happening to their bodies neither Nancy nor Jonathan could comprehend. Slowly but surely, the already disheveled clothes were blooming with dark, almost black, crimson. From head to toe. A revolting sound neither of them wanted to admit sounded familiar - a horrible squelching - grew louder and louder as they shook and shook. Bled and bled.

Had it all stopped then and there they would have surely convinced themselves their eyes had been playing tricks on them. They would have convinced themselves they weren't seeing the men decomposing right before their eyes. No- not decomposing, they realized - it looked more like they were melting. The skin was bubbling right off their bones and soon enough, their bones were gone as well. They were now lost in jagged bits and spikes that all came together in a pool of what used to be the two men, leaving nothing but their clothes.

Even worse - a thought, at this point, they hadn't thought to be possible - the dark sludge of their remains began to move. Independently. Bubbling and mutating with wet hisses. It slipped out of what once was its clothes - or at least, its host's clothes - and made its way for the door.

Neither Jonathan nor Nancy could believe their widened eyes. They didn't dare breathe the foul stench that had taken up each room, not without gagging. But yet they followed it. They had to. They couldn't let it be, wandering freely to do God knows what. No matter how much they wanted to.

And with great apprehension, they follow the mutating carnage back out into the hall. Slowly, they look up to find one another at the opposing end, watching the same gruesome sight. The couple stands frozen in disbelief as up ahead, the bloody, mutated blobs morph together with a growl and begins to take shape.

One -- three -- now eight jagged spikes emerge from the monster as it climbs higher and higher, reaching for the ceiling.

The pile of blood and bones is now at half its size. A sickening crunch echoes with its every sudden move.

Both onlookers - still frozen, hair clinging to the thick layer of sweat on their foreheads - gasp silently in terror as they catch their last glimpse before the lights cut out completely.

The entire fourth floor is absent of all light, all sound. All life.

Less than half their senses were now useless to them. They could, however, finally feel the freezing chill in the air they had neglected to notice since their arrival on the fourth floor. They could smell the foul stench of blood and rot, stronger than it ever was. It wreaked like copper pennies in an old change jar. And for the briefest of moments, the only sound they hear is their hearts racing in their chests, slamming against their ribcage. But perhaps more importantly, they each heard a low, drawn-out growl coming from down the hall.

The lights return with a vengeance; they now flicker in a dizzying strobe, revealing the now fully formed monster made of discarded human flesh. Its joules unhinge, revealing several rows of slimy, bloody teeth made out of what once were human bones. Its ear-piercing shriek builds from its gut in a fearsome battle cry that would echo in their very souls for the rest of their days.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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