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zappedbyzabka · 6 months

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Prompt: Serial Killers

for @ckhalloween23

(Scream au. Lawrusso. Little fast paced. Just one of a couple variations I’m going to make and build on. Wonky timeline)

Johnny slams the fridge closed dramatically, huffing and stomping towards the ringing phone. He’s pissed all day about various things. One is the fact that no colleges have gotten back to him yet. Is he really that…dumb? He could have sworn despite the various times he’d skip classes in school and flunk, that all the debutante bullshit Sid forced him into would at least work for something. Bobby assured him

(“Oh, come on, Johnny. I don’t hang out with stupid people—“he glanced at Tommy and Dutch, then back at him “Actually, scratch that. All I’m saying is that you’re not *educationally* a dumbass, alright?”)

It helped yet didn’t at all. Of course Bobby isn’t stressed, he and Jimmy have always been the smart ones. Johnny would go as far as to say they’re Harvard material. That comfort was fine and dandy, but Dutch was never good at reading the room, he was always just even more affectionate when Johnny was struggling. Arm around his shoulders as Johnny vented about it all. He just wants to get out of his stepfather’s hands, maybe become a doctor, make good money, and be on his own. Make a family at some point. How can he do that if no school wants him? What if he ends up as a plumber? Dealing with shit for shit money. What if he has to strip for perverts? And he wishes he could stop fucking thinking about that annoying little worm, LaRusso. The fighting and tournament are all over yet he seems to run into him everywhere…he can’t even say he hates it. He almost feels excited every time he sees him, especially when Ali isn’t there—so much less tension. So much more time to chat civilly with less filter. He finds himself hoping they broke up and not because he wants her back. Every date he’d been on recently never called him back. It’s like no one wants him except the cobras—and god is he thankful for them even when they say he’s wrong

(“Hey, at least you look cool even when you’re acting like a total diva.” Dutch teased, and Johnny stiffened. They always called him that and he usually scoffs, but right then it just felt like a way to tell him he’s over reacting.

No, it WAS. “I’m not being a diva. Why do you always say that shit?”

“I think you meant drama queen—“ Tommy started, mouth snapping shut at Bobby’s firm look. “Sorry.”

“What’s so great about college? Can’t you just, I don’t know, work at a diner?” Dutch shrugged

Jimmy raised his brows and nudged Johnny’s shoulder with his, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Don’t listen to him. We understand, okay?”

Johnny smiled at him. Jimmy once said he was one of the only people who never made him feel irritated, even with all his chaos. He’d even let him snag one of his grandpa sweaters, which he was usually such a prissy princess about, and just rolled his eyes when Johnny showed up to school one day wearing one. The day they met, he and Johnny were more alike than different, and that always stuck.

Johnny pushed Dutch’s arm off him hard and Jimmy’s off gently. Dutch frowned as Johnny walked to his bike, the other cobras watching and sharing looks.

“What’d I do?” Dutch all but whined to Bobby who smacked him over the head. “Don’t leave, man, please?”

Johnny shook his head and straddled his bike, grabbing his helmet. “Thanks for the pep talk, guys. I’ll see you later.”

“Call me when you get home!” Bobby shouted as Johnny sped off.)

It must be one of them. Dutch or Bobby in a coin toss. Dutch calling with a sheepish apology, asking if he can bring a pack of beer over. Bobby calling to cheer him up a little and give him tips on making better applications. Maybe Jimmy calling to talk about some movie or book, focusing on the action because he knows Johnny likes it most—a great storyteller. Or maybe it’s Tommy with a laugh in his voice, ready to make him cackle so hard his stomach cramped.

He picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi,” A strange voice answers. It’s like they’re using some sort of modulator.

“Uh, who is this?”

“If I tell you, will you give me a chance?” the voice croon.

A chance at what? “Sure, whatever. Who the hell is this?”

The man chuckles, “So feisty. I always liked that about you.”

“I…what?”

“What's your dating life like? Wait, Let me guess, not going so well?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“What’s your fucking problem?”

“Hey, hey. I’m just curious, you never tell me about those kinds of things when we talk.“

“I never tell you?….Who is this?”

Johnny swears he hears something in the background. Something like wheezing, scraping.

“You wanna play twenty questions?”

“You wanna stop playing games and get to the point or did you want to keep prattling?” Johnny counters, walking back to the fridge with the phone pressed to his shoulder.

“No, I want to play with you for a long time.”

Johnny’s face heats up. “Maybe I’ll let you “play” with me if you tell me more about yourself. Like your name, for example.”

Why is he enjoying this?

“Well, sure!” the voice answers cheerily. “What do you want to know? Other than my name. If I gave you it now that’d be no fun. ”

Johnny thinks about it. It's someone semi-close to him at the least with how he speak. Must be some lame prank.

“Do you…live with your parents?”

“Interesting choice. Yes. My ma was very adamant that I stay until I have everything together.”

Johnny’s ears might as well have physically perked up. “Ma”. He knows a lot of people call their moms that but…

“You know, the way you talk reminds me of a boy who’d be *dead* if this were him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This prick from New Jersey….Kind of changed my life. Mostly for the worse I’d say.”

A hum. “You don’t sound like you hate him all that much for someone who change your life for the worse. Do you?”

Johnny stops pouring the coke staring at the half-filled cup and chewing on his lip “It’s not your turn to ask me things yet.”

“Oh, come on. Humor me.”

“Well, I guess not anymore. I kind of… appreciate him. I’d have stayed with him if he never came around. My buddies too.

“Him?”

“My teacher. Bad guy. Tried to kill me.”

“Should have killed him.” he sounds angry. surprisingly so, like a switch had been flipped.

The mansion is so…eery without his mom and Sid there. Unsettling in a different way than when they’re home. He rests his elbow on the counter, pulling his sleeve over his cold fingers. Will he get drilled into it for turning on the heat? Racking up the bill. “Great idea but I don’t really want to go to jail because I’m actually trying to have a life.”

“I wasn’t talking about you killing, I was talking about me.”

Johnny goes silent. So he knows all about it—what Kreese did—and only so many do.

“You look pretty in that sweater, Johnny.”

It takes Johnny’s brain a moment to process that and when it does he stands up straight, looking out the windows he can see.

“Wha—How do know what I’m wearing?” He changed after he got home. There’s no way he could know that unless…

“Are you all alone?”

Yes. Painfully so.

“I—I’m over this. Bye.”

“Did you lock all the doors?“

Click. He practically slams the phone back in the holder, nerves haywire all over again. He dumps his drink out in the sink in favor of some of the scotch stashed in the cabinet

Pouring it hurriedly then going upstairs to get loose and pass out for a good night's rest.

——————————————————————————

Johnny startles awake, his eyes darting in the direction of the sudden cracking noise—heart jumping in his throat when he sees someone successfully breaking into his room. How did he not wake up sooner?

A big white face with a gaping mouth, gloved hands pushing open the window and stumbling in: clumsy.

Adrenaline hits him like a train.

He slinks off his bed and onto the ground just as the intruder's feet meet the floor

They’re not exactly tall, and their flowy black attire makes it hard to determine their stature

He stands up quickly and runs toward the person but a glint makes him stop in his tracks.

The person tilts their head like a dog, bringing out a kitchen knife smeared with blood.

They step towards him, and he steps back, that pattern continuing until Johny only has the corner of the wall behind him, nowhere to escape. He was taught better than this—maybe he can still run.

The intruder sweeps his legs causing him to fall on his back and lose all his breath, lungs feeling like they were punched, his head knocking on the floor making him see stars. The person gets between his legs easily and puts a hand on his chest to hold him down (though it feels more like a grope) and the blade still held in warning

Maybe he could get it away from him. Maybe he can get himself to move if he just takes a deep breath. Wills away the dizziness.

Heavy breathing comes from the mask, and he trails the blade down Johnny's body slowly. Toying with him. Staring at him with big black eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d catch yourself better, you’re usually such a cat….” he leans in “You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you? Bad boy.”

“Are you going to kill me? Johnny asks, voice high and tight.

“Are you scared?” his voice is strange like he’s impersonating someone, like they’re going as deep as they can. Breathy.

Johnny grits his teeth, eyes on the blood smeared on the mask.

“I…I’ll give you whatever you want of mine. Just please don’t take my parents’ stuff—“

The boy shakes his head. “Don’t be scared.”

Johnny’s hands tremble where they’re clutching his sweater. He could wrap his legs around his waist and squeeze tight, roll him over, and surprise him enough to escape.

But the knife—but the butterflies in his stomach.

He was always fascinated by knives. The way they reflected things. He used to play with the switchblade his dad left when he was young. He hid it from his mom until the day he accidentally sliced his hand and needed stitches. She was furious, he was thinking about just how dark his blood was. Not at all like the movies he’d watch that looked like ketchup. He thought it was beautiful

“I know you like blood on your hands but — “ The intruder swipes the red off his mask with a finger, leather shining with it. Johnny’s eyes follow widely, “Is it like I do?”

He almost sounds hopeful. Vulnerable. Johnny’s heart thumps loudly. he hates murder. Murder is wrong. It’d make him a bad person if he sometimes thought about going further than a strike. More than just his hands and high kicks and words. He says nothing, and the boy tuts his tongue, wiping the blood on Johnny’s lips like some sort of fucked up lipstick.

“I think you do. I know you, Johnny. Better than you think I do. Better than you know me.”

“No. No. I don’t like it.” Johnny chokes out, tongue threatening to peek out a lick his lips clean.

He can just sense he’s smiling. “Okay, pretty boy.”

He knows him. He *knows* him.

The intruder covers his eyes, shushing soothingly when Johnny goes tense

“No more dates for you. ” he whispers, and Johnny flinches when he feels the heat of their mouth hovering over his. “I’ll keep making sure of it. And since you *don’t* want blood on your hands, you should probably just give up because next time, I’ll stab them when you’re still there.”

It clicks in his head like a phone getting hung up: All the failed dates, they’re dead. All because of him. All because this man is… is what? Obsessed with him?

He kisses Johnny out of no where and it’s eager, rough like he had been waiting forever. Like he’s trying to eat Johnny like a blood-glazed cake lips first and he just lays there and takes it. Opens his mouth and tastes his tongue: iron and mint. Something interesting.

He turns his head abruptly, hand still covering his eyes firmly, and the kiss breaks with a wet noise that has Johnny’s feeling warm. He breathes through his nose, tears welling at the corner of his eyes. He’s striking first and Johnny hasn’t struck him once

“Aw. I’m disappointed you’re done so soon, but that’s okay. I’m not pushy. I wasn’t even sure you’d let me…You chew on things so much, you have no idea the things I think about you.“

A rustle, then the moonlight filling Johnny’s vision again.

The murderer gets up and saunters to his bedroom door, looking back at him with his hand on the knob

Johnny sits up his elbows, licking the roof of his mouth to savor.

“One day, I won’t have to make calls, ‘cause you are instead,” he tells Johnny like a promise before he opens the doors with a creak and steps out.

Johnny lays back again, shaking with it all. No want in him to close his window or see if the boy is burglarizing the mansion or just going out the front door like he owns the place.

He might ask someone out tomorrow.

#lawrusso #Thank you to variousqueerthings for running the event #I’ve kept it the same since I wrote it a week ago #Literally word for word #This is not very good I know #but I wanted to get it out 😭#forgive me #tw murder #tw possessive behavior #cobras x Johnny optional #Jimmy loves all the Cobras dw #Tw blood

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