Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

TW: ILLNESS RELATED DEATH, BLOOD, MURDER

Hadrian Potter's mother had always told him that in the face of conflict it was always better to talk it out.

He found a bitter sense of amusement in this as he stared at her grotesque form, there was no talking to a sickness and yet it had killed her more gruesomely than any conflict she had ever been involved with ever could. Her blood was quickly spreading across the polished wooden floor of their home and Hadriea could feel it start to soak into pants.

The warmth of the blood was almost comforting for a moment, like a whisper from his mother beyond the grave that she was still there for him. He snorted aloud at his thoughts.

The blood was most probably killing him if anything.

Hadrian knew that the plague could spread from a single touch to or from an infected person, blood from an infected person was a death warrant. 

He was going to die, the statistics showed as such. But he didn't want to be another statistic. Another nameless corpse shoved into one of those large graves he had seen the community begin to dig.

He wanted to be known.

He wanted to be remembered.

Hadrian glanced to his dead mother. It had taken her eight days to die since she had begun throwing up, in those eight days they had been cautious of contact between them until her last moments when she had begun bleeding. 

Eight days. 

There was a lot he could do in eight days. 

The blood was starting to become cold and stuck to his skin through his pants. He found that he minded it just as much as he did the warmer blood, that is to say not at all. 

Hadrian slowly stood, feeling the pull of the dried blood to his skin was enough to remind him that even if he didn't mind it that he would probably have to wash up.

He sighed, they — no, he didn't have much water left since the last collection was made a little over ten days ago. He and his mother had used it sparingly enough but it certainly wouldn't be enough to clean himself now and then hold the further eight days he suspected he'd live. 

That was his first plan of action once he was clean, getting water. Hadrian glanced to his mother. And perhaps notifying the grave diggers that there was one more to the talley of the dead.

Once washed and dressed in a simple pair of slacks and a button up that he usually wore to work Hadrian made his way outside. 

The streets were dirty and filled with rats, there was a distinct smell of rotting flesh, urine and shit. It made Hadrian miss the strong coppery smell of his mother's blood, this said a lot seeing as he had only just left the house.

With a drawn out sigh Hadrian hoisted the barrel that would be filled with water a little more comfortably and walked down the street toward the Well of the Damned as the locals had taken to calling it. There was nothing particularly damning about this well, sure one or two people had fallen in (some may say pushed but they were written off as nutters) but otherwise it was a perfectly fine place to get water. 

As he got near the well he saw Petra Jones from the market crying to one of the body collectors. Hadrian wasn't sure what the body collectors' names were nor was he interested, they may have been doing their jobs but not one that he had met had ever been particularly nice about it.

Case and point when the body collector snapped at Petra.

"They're all dying so stop ya cryin', you'll prob'ly be as dead as they are by this time next week!"

"You awful man!" Petra cried out her voice shaking with emotion. "Have you no heart! I tell you that my family has passed and you all but condemn me to a similar fate." She released a few dry sobs after this bold declaration.

"Sir," Hadrian cut in before the body collector could respond as nastily as Hadrian expected him to, "my mother has passed, her body lay beside our dining area in our house two streets down."

The body collector sneered. 

"Fine, I'll get yer damn mother." He looked to Petra. "And yer family too, ya whore. I'll prob'ly collect yers soon enough as well."

And with that he stalked off. Hadrian looked to Petra who was staring at the ground with glassy eyes. 

"Are you all right, Petra?"

"There was so much blood, Hadrian. So much blood. And it covered me from head to toe, I cannot look at my hands without seeing red," Petra murmured as if she were speaking more to herself than to Hadrian.

Hadrian frowned, a crow cawed somewhere from above. "I don't quite understand what the problem is," he admitted.

Petra looked up at him, staring at him as if he were mad. "'Don't quite understand what the problem is?' Hadrian, I was covered in what is supposed to be inside of them!" She cried out, making Hadrian take a step back startled, he'd never heard a woman aside from his mother raise her voice at him.

"Yes, and despite that they could comfort you with what little warmth they had left," Hadrian answered.

"Comfort me?" Petra all but shrieked. "How is blood meant to comfort me?" She then stared at Hadrian in horror, taking a step back as if he were about to attack her. "You are one of them, the witches! You take comfort in the offerings you make to your devil lord! Witch!" She screamed. "Witch!"

Hadrian's eyes widened. To be called a witch was a death sentence and a one way ticket to damnation. And Petra had just told the entire town that he was one with her shouts.

Another caw resounded.

"Witch!" Petra screamed again.

Hadrian noticed people shuffling out of their houses and staring at the pair in horror. He noticed a few point at him with horrified looks and mutter whispers to those beside them.

He suddenly grew angry.

"I am not a witch!" He cried out, surging forward to push Petra without thought.

The look on Petra's face as she fell into the well behind her would be one that was ingrained in his mind forever because that was the day he was truly alive for the first time. 

As he stared into her eyes Hadrian felt a jolt run up his spine. 

Death. 

Killing. 

It was thrilling. The look in Petra's eyes was deliciously helpless. He had caused that.

He heard the townspeople let out horrified shrieks and gasps. He heard pounding footfalls approach him. He heard the caws of the crows. He heard a resounding flutter of wings. 

Then he heard nothing. 

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Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE

TW: NON-GRAPHIC MURDER, MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE, BLOOD, ATTEMPTED MURDER

According to Slender Man the Dursleys of Number Four Privet Drive were disturbing the balance. Jeffery Woods, better known as Jeff the Killer, thought that the only thing they were disturbing was his stomach with how painfully boring they were. Not even putting them to sleep had brought any sort of excitement to Jeff, that's how boring they were. 

A picture perfect family. A two faced bitch of a housewife, a describes-himself-as-conservative-but-is-actually-just-racist husband and a spoiled nine year old brat all living in a house straight from a Home Depot advertisement. Didn't even scream pretty, just whimpered and attempted to threaten him. 

"I'm calling the police!" Vernon Dursley had shouted. The only thing he'd ended up calling was a pig with the way he squealed as Jeff carved his face open. 

Jeff chuckled at the thought as he made his way down the stairs. 

"Thanks for that."

Jeff's head shot up to locate who had spoken but the hallway was empty. 

"What the fuck? Toby better not have slipped shit into my food again," Jeff muttered, eyes flicking for any place the voice could've come from. His eyes settled on the cupboard beneath the staircase. No cupboard needed six deadbolt locks. 

Jeff's eyes lit up. Perhaps there was something interesting to the Dursleys after all. 

Jeff knocked on the cupboard door. "Hello, anyone in there?" He sang. 

"Open the door and maybe you'll see," the same voice answered. 

"Do you perhaps know where the key is?" Jeff asked.

The voice took a moment to answer. "On the fridge with the other keys, I believe. It's the one with the blue tag that says 'Freak'."

Jeff hummed, moving toward the kitchen, then called over his shoulder toward the voice. "Why does it say 'freak'?"

"Because that's my name," the voice responded simply.

Jeff nearly fell off the chair he had been standing on to reach on top of the fridge - 'fucking polish over-using bastards', Jeff thought to himself as he regained his footing. "Your name is Freak then?" 

"Well it used to be something else, but I'm afraid I've forgotten what it is. Freak is what they called me since I arrived on their doorstep so I supposed it was as good a name as any. It was either that or 'Boy', and I'm sure you can understand why I chose not to go with that one."

"How long have you been with them?" Jeff asked as he looked through the bundle of keys - with the blue tag - for the first lock. 

"It's hard to say, keeping track of time is rather difficult in a cupboard. And when I'm let out, I'm usually too busy with chores to check the date. But if I had to guess I'd say about eight or nine years."

"That sucks," Jeff commented eloquently as he moved onto unlocking the third lock. 

Freak snorted. "You're telling me."

"If it's any conciliation," Jeff started, "you won't have to live with the trauma."

The fourth lock opened with a click. 

"Oh," said Freak, "and why's that?"

The fifth lock was unlocked.

"Because," said Jeff jamming the key in the final lock, "you'll be asleep."

The cupboard door swung open and Jeff brought his knife - which had been resting on his lap as he had been unlocking the door - down. 

Freak didn't even have time to scream. A knife was plunged into his chest and a graphic squelch was heard as the blood spattered onto Jeff's pale skin and the cupboard walls.

By all accounts that should have been it. Jeff had stabbed where he knew the heart was located and from numerous experiments he knew that the person would be at the very least unconconcious in seconds and completely brain dead within three minutes. 

"Well that was rude."

If Jeff had eyelids he would've blinked in confusion, instead he could only stare as a small hand moved to remove the knife that penetrated its owner's chest. Jeff let go of the knife in shock, allowing Freak to remove the weapon.

"You're alive," Jeff muttered astutely. 

Freak hummed. "If you don't take your knife back, it becomes mine," he told Jeff. 

Jeff took the knife offered to him numbly and for the first time took a good look at his would-be victim. 

If he had to guess he'd say the boy was around eight or nine years old but his face looked older with the bags beneath his eyes and with how gaunt his face was. Large clothes hung off his skeletal frame and bruises of green, blue and purple were painted along his skin. A clear victim of abuse if he'd ever seen one. 

And he had just lived through a stab to the heart as if it were a poke from a stick.

"How are you not dead?" Jeff rasped, staring the gaping wound in the boy's chest.

Freak shrugged, the action making the wound stretch to look like a mouth opening. "Would main character energy be an acceptable answer to you?"

"Main character energy?" Jeff repeated hollowly.

Freak titled his head back and smiled. "Yes. It's part of the reason you should leave now."

And the boy was right. Red and blue illuminated the hallway as police cars started to pull up in front of the house. If Jeff didn't leave now he would have to deal with cops and he was not letting Toby or BEN hold that over his head again.

He stood and ran toward the back door and away from law enforcement and the boy who had named himself Freak.

༄

Constable Lennox Morse had been an apart of the police force for six years. In fact, that day had been the anniversary for when he had first joined the force. In those six years he had seen quite bit. From petty thievery to first degree murder (of course these cases were taken to the higher ups), he liked to think there was little that surprised him anymore. 

The job he had been given - ten minutes before his shift was supposed to end, fuck you Captain Barker - proved him wrong.

Number Four Privet Drive was just like any other house on the street. This being awfully plain and somewhat of an eyesore with the excessive use of white paint throughout the houses lined along the road.

To be quite honest, upon seeing the house Constable Morse had guessed that the neighbour that had called in the noise disturbance would consider even the slightest volume raise to a television a noise disturbance. Therefore he concluded the interaction that would follow would be nothing more than a conversation with a miffed housewife who would insist their house never caused any 'disturbances' and claim he would be better off to investigate the neighbours who had complained. All in all, an easy job and he would hopefully be off duty only ten minutes after his shift had meant to end.

He walked toward the plain door that had a polished bronze four mounted on it and with an eye roll that he shared with his partner, Constable Leah Grays, he gave three heavy knocks.

There was no movement for a long moment before a noise that could be compared to a stumbling foal on hardwood floors was heard on the other side. As the door swung open, he opened his mouth to start an introduction but the words died in his throat upon seeing who had opened the door.

Constable Grays gasped and Constable Morse could only stare in shock. A boy, small and bruised and covered in blood, stood staring at them with bleary eyes.

"Help," the boy rasped, holding onto the door handle as if it were keeping him up and, seeing the wound in his chest, Constable Morse supposed it was.

The plea that spilled from the boy's lips seemed to spur Constable Grays into action.

"I need EMTs to Four Privet Drive immediately, stand by on armed response. EMTs to Four Privet Drive immediately."

Constable Morse dropped the boy's level. "Hey buddy, help is on its way," he told the boy softly. "Could you tell me where you're parents or guardians are?" 

The boy's lower lip trembled. "My aunt and uncle and-and my cousin, they're upstairs. They're dead. That man killed them. He found me in my cupboard and tried to kill me too." The boy said hyperventilating slightly and Constable Morse noted the way his wound would gape open and closed as his chest rose and fell, it was a wonder the boy was still breathing let alone standing and talking.

"You're safe now. Help is here. You'll be okay," Constable Morse told him. His mind caught up with what the boy had said. "What do you mean cupboard, bud?"

"My-my cupboard. The one I'm kept in until Aunt Petunia lets me out," the boy told him.

It was then that Constable Morse concluded that the bruises on the boy's body weren't only from the man that had attacked him.

"What's your name, buddy?" Constable Morse asked, putting a pin on that thought for the time being.

The boy hesitated. "Freak."

And from there it was a blur.

The EMTs arrived and 'Freak' was loaded into an ambulance and zoomed off to the nearest emergency room. Constable Grays led the Detective Chief Inspector upstairs where she had found the victims while Constable Morse had been talking to 'Freak'. The coroner arrived and the constables present were put in charge of keeping nosy neighbors away from the scene.

Later, through examinations of the bodies and from Harry' - which was what Freak's real name was found to be - statement, it was concluded that it was the work of notorious serial killer Jeff the Killer.

It was declared a medical miracle that Harry had lived through his attack, especially considering he had serious abuse injuries and was malnourished during the time. Further statements from Harry and neighbours led to the discovery of the Dursleys' abuse.

All in all, the male line of the Dursley bloodline had come to an end, Harry was placed in the care of Marjorie Dursley, sister of Vernon Dursley, and Constable Morse did not celebrate his recruitment into the force that night.

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Chapter Text

Chapter Two

TW: GRAPHIC MURDER, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, CANNABILISM

There was a ten-year-old killing a woman on the other side of the camera.

Look, BEN Drowned had seen a lot of weird things on the other side of a camera - murders, suicides, some questionable sex things, to name a few - but that didn't mean he actively sought them out. In fact, he was merely trying to do his own job when he stumbled across what he had.

The device was on, the owner was online, and BEN decided to do what he was made to. But instead of some gullible middle-aged mother trying to navigate her laptop, BEN saw a child plunging a kitchen knife into a woman three times his size.

The woman was screaming, frantically flailing around in an attempt to get the child off of her. The child however had wrapped his legs around her large stomach firmly and was completely focused on the task at hand, making it surprisingly difficult to dislodge the small body from her. 

BEN watched with rapt attention as the child removed the knife from where it was lodged into the woman's chest. The deep red liquid on the knife glinted in the light as the child brought it up as if to admire it. 

The woman had resorted to sobbing, realising that her screams were not going to be heard. As she cried a mantra of why's escaped her mouth. 

The child looked away from the knife and gave the woman a flat look. "'Why?'" He asked. He said it as if her words had confused him, as if he couldn't fathom why she would ask such a thing. He gave his knife a considering look then licked it. "Perhaps the gods will be merciful and explain it to you once we're done." He gave her a grin that was stained red and in a motion that was so swift that it took BEN by surprise he stuck the knife into the woman's eyeball. 

The woman screamed again, and the boy laughed. 

It was a short laugh, cut off by the boy himself sticking the knife into his mouth and chewing on the eyeball that was impaled on it.

It was not as if BEN was unfamiliar with cannibalism, most of the people he lived with had dipped their toes into that particular food group before - Hell, their local doctor was often scolded for attempting to eat the residents' kidneys - but BEN was taken by surprise with how little hesitation there was from a child to eat an eyeball as if it were a marshmallow.

"That's wuh-one fucked up - cut a bitch - movie you-you're watching BEN."

BEN instinctively reached out to give Toby a smack from where he hovered over the blonde's shoulder. Toby gave a loud laugh at the action and BEN was reminded that Toby hadn't even felt the sting of flesh hitting flesh.

The woman screamed again as the boy removed her other eyeball. As the child took a bite of this one the woman went limp beneath his body. Not dead but definitely unconscious. 

"It's not a movie," BEN murmured not taking his eyes off the screen. 

"Wuh-one fucked up kuh-kid then," Toby amended after a moment.

Toby and BEN watched as the boy finally seemed to get bored and swiftly slit the woman's throat.

He licked his knife and fingers as he got off the corpse then approached the chair in front of the computer that Toby and BEN were watching him from. The boy opened Internet Explorer and typed in 'Talking Tom' letter for letter with his index finger. 

"Wuh-what's he doing?" Toby asked, staring at the screen with rapt attention. His question was followed by rapid clicks of his tongue. 

BEN took a moment to respond. "Downloading a game." 

Toby groaned then clicked his tongue again. "That's bor-boring. Make him duh-do some - cut a bitch! - thing fuh-fun."

BEN hated taking orders from his fellow proxies, especially Toby, but the boy had a point. Watching a child, no matter how bloody, play a game was one of the least entertaining things BEN could think of. 

Which is why BEN decided to open a chat box. They watched the boy blink in confusion as the animated cat he was slapping disappeared behind a white text box. 

Going for a different approach from what he usually did BEN typed a message to the child.

User 1: I saw what you did to her. 

The boy took a long moment to read what was written to him - BEN had tried to keep his message simple - then he paused as if processing the situation before he responded. Out loud. 

"She deserved it."

It was said with utter conviction. As if his argument, vague as it was, was an acceptable rebuttal to murdering a woman. 

User 1: What did she do?

When the child didn't respond and instead moved to the settings button on the chat BEN sat forward and Toby vibrated with excitement. This wouldn't be the first time one of BEN's victims had tried to block or report him. It also wouldn't be the first time that they'd regret their actions.

Another message pinged onto the screen.

[User 2 has changed their username to Harry]

"She deserved it," the boy, Harry apparently, repeated. 

"The kuh-kid's smart BEN, respond as you wuh-would normally." Toby's eyes didn't leave the screen even as his hand made a fist and started to hit his thigh repeatedly, seemingly out of its own. 

"Why do you say that?" BEN asked. 

"Huh-his response to the luh-lady wuh-was very puh-poetic."

Sometimes Toby made good points. Rarely, sure, but sometimes.

[User 1 has changed their username to BEN]

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Is your name really Ben?"

BEN: Yes.

The proxies watched with bated breath as Harry scrunched up his nose. 

"I once met a snake named Ben, he wasn't very nice."

Toby laughed and BEN cringed at the obnoxious noise. "Huh-He compared you-you to ah-a lizard!"

"Snakes aren't lizards!" BEN snapped as he typed his response. 

BEN: Well, I'm not a snake. 

Harry puffed some air into his cheeks. "Well, obviously, snakes don't have fingers." His shockingly green eyes sharpened and he sat forward in his seat. "That does beg the question, though, what exactly are you?"

BEN was momentarily thrown by the jump between the childish response and the vaguely threatening question. BEN decided he did not like talking to this child. 

"Answer!" Toby snapped. His leg hitting had finally stopped but his fingers kept clicking in a manner that deeply annoyed BEN. 

"What do you want me to say to that, genius?"

"Wuh-well what do you-you-you you-usually tell your victims?"

BEN's response was cut off before it started by Harry loudly announcing, "I need the bathroom, you'll still be here when I get back, right?" 

BEN: Yes. 

"Good, cause then you can answer my question."

Then he disappeared. 

"If your-your jobs are you-usually this fun then I'm go-going to bother ya-you more often to watch them."

BEN gave an annoyed sigh. "I don't usually have nine year olds killing people on my jobs, Toby. Would you stop that!"

Toby glared at him. "Ya-you know I can't just stop it!" He snapped as his fingers continued to click. 

BEN returned the glare. "Would breaking them help?" He demanded aggressively. 

Toby snorted and rolled his eyes. "Ya-you know it-it wuh-won't - stupid bitch! - buh-because I won't fuh-feel it!"

BEN's retort was cut off by Harry returning with a bat in his hands. Harry grinned at the camera then sat down. 

"I'm back!" He announced. 

BEN: I can see that. Why did you bring a bat?

BEN watched as Harry tapped at his blood stained lip lightly as if debating something. The boy then spoke. 

"Do you like playing baseball, BEN?"

BEN: I've never played to be honest with you. 

BEN saw Harry smirk at the screen. "That's okay, I can teach you." BEN leaned in closer to the screen, unsure as to what the child had planned. Would you hit the woman's body with the bat? Actually play baseball of all things?

The boy was unpredictable. 

"Wuh-what is he - kill yourself - doing?" Toby asked, also leaning closer to the screen.

BEN wondered the same thing.

Harry raised the bat staring at the camera. His had a deranged look on his face. BEN'S eye widened. 

BEN: What are you doing?

That was the last thing to pop up on Harry's screen before the child started to destroy the computer. BEN listened to him beat the computer for a moment before pulling up a display of all the technology that was in the house.

There wasn't any. Just the computer that was being destroyed by a child that apparently decided he wouldn't be playing Talking Tom any longer. 

There were a few more crunches of metal and Harry shouted a loud "strike!" before the sound cut off completely and the last piece of technology in that area disappeared.

What the actual fuck?