
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13607826.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Fandom:
      A_Nightmare_on_Elm_Street_(2010), A_Nightmare_on_Elm_Street_-_All_Media
      Types
  Character:
      Original_Female_Character(s), Freddy_Krueger
  Additional Tags:
      Blood_and_Gore, Dreams_and_Nightmares, Explicit_Language, freddy_krueger
      is_his_own_warning, Past_Child_Abuse, Past_Rape/Non-con, Swearing,
      Paranormal_Investigators, Dreams, Sleep, Sexual_Humor, Implied/Referenced
      Rape/Non-con, Recovery, Aftermath_of_Violence, Police, Investigations,
      Crimes_&_Criminals
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-01 Chapters: 1/? Words: 1337
****** The Beautiful and Damned ******
by cherryvanillaaa
Summary
     Several mutilated bodies have been found in a sickeningly familiar
     pattern in Springwood, and authorities have discovered a tactic they
     can use to help fight the dream demon, Freddy Krueger; a young ghost
     whisperer named Amanda, who has a few nightmares of her own to bear.
     What will happen? Sweet dreams for everyone, indeed.
     He woke up in a bathroom stall. Not sitting on the toilet or laying on the
floor, but standing facing the door. His hand was outstretched towards the
latch, as though poised to let himself out. Like he'd been about to start
sleepwalking...?
     It was the bathroom in the local movie theater, he was sure. So what the
hell was he doing here in the middle of the night? Last he'd remembered, he'd
been crawling into bed, exhausted after a long day. And now he was here. What
the fuck is going on? 
     If he was being totally honest, this wasn't the first time he'd woken up
here. Working at the theater had perks - like having access to keys and being
able to disarm the alarm code upon entering the building. He'd snuck friends in
here before, girls, booze. His manager had been none the wiser, as well as his
other coworkers. There were no cameras in the place - the theater didn't bring
in enough money to be able to afford any tech-y stuff besides the alarm
system. 
     So, it wasn't weird that he'd woken up here. It was weird that he'd woken
up here and hadn't remembered falling asleep here. He knew he'd gone home
tonight... Maybe his daily consumption of liquor was frying his memory. That
was the only possible explanation. 
     He rubbed at his face with one hand and reached out to open the stall door
with his other hand. It was very dim in the stalls; the men's room, at least.
The only source of light came from a buzzing, single fluorescent light above
the mirror and the sink. It gave the room an eerie, unsaturated glow, like
something out of one of the Saw movies. When he saw his reflection in the
mirror, he was even more confused. He was wearing his pajamas, which consisted
of an old ratty t-shirt and his Springwood High School sweatpants. Whenever he
snuck back into the theater after hours, he always wore his theater uniform
(which was just a red button down with the theater logo over the right pocket,
and a pair of jeans). This was just in case anyone worked out that he (and
friends) were in there - he could show them his ID and nametag and say he was
doing some 'cleaning' or something after hours. He was sure the cops would fall
for shit like that. 
     But he knew he had changed out of the uniform and into his pajamas - he
hadn't planned on coming back here this night. So why was he here? Had
he driven himself here in his sleep? Was he that far gone now? He'd been really
tired a lot lately, but this was a whole new level of fucked up. 
     He shook his head at his reflection, rubbing his face again as he headed,
barefoot, towards the door that would take him into an even darker hallway. The
floor was cool under his feet, as was the door handle when his fingers closed
around it to pull it open. Only when he opened the door, he saw that there was
no dark hallway that awaited him, and instead of feeling the inevitable chill
of the AC unit, he felt a whoosh of hot, humid air. 
     Where the fuck was he? This wasn't the movie theater. 
     He mumbled an expletive under his breath, feeling his panic spike as he
stepped out the door and into the... wherever he was. Some kind of factory?
Steam and hot air surrounded him - it was sweltering in here. He could feel the
humidity seep into his lungs. He thought he was going to choke on it. 
     "Hello?" He called out, and his voice echoed along with the hissing pipes
ad groaning boilers he could see around him. How did he get here? Was this some
kind of joke? 
     As soon as he called out, he regretted it. Weren't you not supposed to do
that in the movies? That was how the killer always found you. Whoa, hold up,
nobody said anything about a killer, calm the hell down. If this was a joke,
though, he could let whoever was playing it know that it was not funny. 
     "Hey," He tried to sound more confident than he felt. He didn't want
anyone to think he was some kind of pussy. "This isn't funny, yo!" He looked
around with a swallow. He had no freaking idea what this place was. He didn't
remember ever being here in his life. "So just knock it off now, alright? I'm
not playing around - you had your fun."
     "No." A voice that came from what sounded like it was all around him
suddenly ground out, making him jump in pure terror. The hair on the back of
his neck stood straight on its end. "Not yet."
     The words sank into his brain like water into a sponge, and he started
running like a murderer from a crime scene. His lungs burned with each breath,
and his feet pounded on the metal grates below him. If he wasn't so terrified
he would've worried about falling through one of them, but right now he didn't
give a damn. He just wanted out. He rounded a corner - it seemed like this
place was full of endless twists and turns, whatever it was. Everything was
saturated in a weird orange light, so unlike the bathroom he'd just emerged
from. It just made this place even scarier.
     He made a sharp left and immediately ran smack into a low hanging pipe -
his head bounced off of it and his feet flew forward. His body did this weird
undulation in the aid before it hit the ground. One hand flew up to his now
aching forehead with a groan, his eyes squeezed shut from the pounding in his
skull. His back hurt from landing smack on the hard metal grate beneath him. He
was actually surprised he hadn't fallen straight through it; he'd landed like a
sack of bricks crashing to the floor.
     Eyes still shut to the pain, he felt the grate beneath him shake with what
sounded like footsteps accompanying each jitter. Groaning, he opened his eyes -
when he was back up to par he was going to straight up murder whoever was doing
this. Who he saw through blurred, smoky vision though... that didn't look like
anyone he knew. "Who are you?" he croaked out, wondering if he should panic or
own up to being a gullible idiot. He automatically started sliding back on the
warm metal as the figure grew closer. Each step seemed exaggeratedly slow, like
he was in no such hurry. "Dude, I'm serious, this isn't funny anymore, come
on!" 
     "Aww, Will, you don't like this game?" the figure drawled then. The voice
made the hair on the back of his neck stand up - deep and grating, like two
concrete blocks scraping together. How does he know my name? What the fuck is
going on? 
     "Who are you?!" Will asked again. A fine tremor had crept into his voice
now. His eyes widened when he saw a glint of light in the man's right hand -
four glints of sharp metal. Jesus Christ, the guy had four knives attached to
his fingers! This felt more like a nightmare than reality. 
     "Oh God, please let this be a dream," he whimpered, backing up more even
as the figure continued to walk towards him.
     "Ohh, it is," The man's voice was mockingly placating, "It's only a dream.
But you won't be waking up from this one anytime soon." With surprising speed,
the man lunged forward, throwing out his razor fingered hand. With a cry of
fear, Will raised his arm defensively. The sting of the blades was immediate,
and he heard a wet thump just before he opened his eyes. When he did, he saw
his hand, severed cleanly at the wrist, twitching at his feet. With the final
realization that this was not a joke, or a prank, he screamed. 
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