A/N; Trigger Warnings for this chapter; Mentions and use of roofies

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It was the sound of the front door slamming downstairs that brought Dennis out of the deep sleep he'd fallen into. He sat up slowly, cautiously to avoid bringing back the sickness that seemed to come and go in waves over the last few weeks, and as he felt the air mattress beneath him, everything from the night before came back to him; The things that Leigh had said, and the way he had felt hearing them, all the kisses exchanged and what had followed before they'd fallen asleep.

As Dennis put the pieces together, he could hear two voices coming from downstairs and his heart dropped as he could put names to both of them. One was Leigh, and the other belonged to his mother. Anything positive that he'd been feeling when he'd opened his eyes disappeared in a heartbeat, and before he could stop himself, he jumped on his feet and hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw them both standing in the hall, and their conversation ceased upon noticing him.

“Leigh, what's going on? Why's my mom here?”

“Well…”

“It's alright, you can tell him. There's not much he can do now, and you've played your part really well.” His mother chimed in.

“Tell me what?” He prompted, his eyebrows creasing with a frown.

“Look, Dennis… you know I only mean well for you-”

“Cut the crap. Tell me the truth.” He demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

Leigh sighed. “Mrs Guilder, can you please give us a minute?”

Dennis glared at his mother as she slipped out the front door without a word to either of them, then fixed his eyes on Leigh. The air in the room seemed to grow thinner with each passing second that she didn't speak, and her lack of eye contact only heightened his anxiety.

“What is it?” He prompted.

“I'm sorry, Dennis… but I did what I had to do.” Leigh began. “Before you called me last night, the second time, your mother called me. She just wants to see you get better, the same as me, and last night I brought you here because she asked me to. The trouble after that was keeping you here, things between us haven't been so good recently, and I did what I had to do.”

“What does that mean?” He pressed, his voice reduced a mere squeak.

“It means…” Leigh trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “Now, don't get mad at me, it was your mom's idea…”

“Just tell me, please.”

“After we got back here, you were so tense and so messed up from everything, I knew that if we fought again you wouldn't stay, so I might have… slipped a little something in your water.”

Dennis's mouth hung partly open, his eyes wide with surprise. “You- you roofied me?”

“No! Well, yeah but I don't like how it sounds when you put it that way.”

“But we… those things you said a- about believing me, about how you care about me, all that talk about being able to be together… was it-”

“I was worried that if I upset you after you kissed me that you would leave, so I figured telling you what you wanted to hear would be the best way to keep you here. I never meant for it to go as far as it did when we… you know.”

Before she'd even finished speaking, Dennis was almost heaving for breaths. He almost didn't believe what he was hearing, but it was all but confirmed when Leigh hung her head, clearly ashamed.

“W- was any of it real?” He hesitated.

“No.” She answered quietly. “Apart from that I do care about you.”

“Heh, you have a funny way of showing it.” He laughed.

Though he found it far from funny. He brought his hand to his chest, and screwed his face up as he felt it starting to ache along with his stomach.

“Say something.” She pushed.

“Wh- why?”

“Because you're sick, and you need help.”

“Do you really think that makes it okay?” He spat, his eyes blazing with anger and betrayal. “I'm not sick, Leigh and even if I was, it's for me to decide if I need help or not! How could you do this?”

“You have to understand-”

“No, I don't!” He yelled, gripping his shirt as his chest tightened painfully. “I trusted you and you abused that. You roofied me, took advantage of my vulnerability by leading me on and then didn't bother to push me away when I kissed you. Just because you don't believe me it doesn't mean that it's not happening!”

“Dennis, calm down. You're gonna make yourself sick-”

“You're making me sick, Leigh!” He cut in, and ran his hand across his face. “Don't tell me to calm down, I think I have every right to be upset over this.”

“Of course, but-”

“But nothing. I hope you enjoyed this…” He said, gliding his hands down over his body. “Because you won't be getting a second round, the rocket will never start up for you again.”

Leigh bit down on her lip, but couldn't stifle her laugh. It seemed only to wind him up further as he turned his back, leaning both hands against the wall and bowing his head. Dennis, with his back to her, closed his eyes and focused on taking several slow, deep breaths. He refused to show her his reddened face, or the tears that were dangerously close to rolling down his cheeks. The pain in his chest and stomach had gotten worse throughout their conversation, and his body trembled as he fought not to double over.

“I really didn't mean to hurt you, I just wanted to help you get better.” She said sheepishly, slowly creeping up to him.

Dennis's shoulders shook with laughter and when he finally turned to face her, his eyes were wide and glassy and his lips dry and cracked.

“Yeah, well it does hurt. Okay? It hurts so fucking much that I am physically in pain.” He snapped. “You may have roofied me, but I was aware of everything. I wasn't out of it when I kissed you, Leigh! That happened because you told me a pack of lies. You didn't mean to hurt me, yet here we are.”

“Stop being so dramatic!” She bit back, folding her arms across her chest with a sigh.

“I'm sorry, what?” He scoffed. “You break my fucking heart and I'm being dramatic?”

“It's not like that.” She denied.

“You know, I think the worst part is that you knew what you were doing, that you didn't mean any of what you said. That's what hurts more than anything, I'd have thought you'd know that it would hurt me… and it did.” He said, his voice hoarse and barely there. “I never thought you'd stoop so low.”

“I'm sorry.” She squeaked.

“It's too late for that. You can apologize all you want, but you've already broken my trust so it doesn't matter. Even if you did earn it again, the damage has been done. My heart is beyond repair, so I couldn't possibly love you… but maybe that's for the best since you only love Arnie and I was nothing more than a walking penis to you.”

Leigh opened her mouth, then closed it and scowled at him. She had been about to try and talk him down, but his last comment had crossed a line. “I'm sorry alright, sorry that you could never be Arnie… He didn't need tweezers to put his giggle stick away.”

“That's not what you said last night.” He snapped. “I can't believe the nerve you have to make such derogatory comments after what you've done. But really I should thank you, for opening my eyes because this is it. After all of this, I'm done.”

“You'll be back when you run out of girls to sleep with.”

“Screw you!”

Dennis bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, having said everything that he'd wanted to say, and yanked the front door open. Though before he could storm out, his mother appeared in front of him with a man he'd never met before standing behind her, and he only managed to take one step before they ushered him back into the hallway.

“Ma, you were in on this?” He asked, licking at his dry lips.

“I'm sorry, but I'm doing what's best for you…”

“Why does everyone think they know what's best for me? Should I not have a say in that?” He huffed.

“Listen, Dennis. This is my friend, Doctor Steve King. He works down at the psychiatric facility, but he's taken time away to come and help you.”

Before he could respond, the doctor his mother had just introduced him to extended his hand to be shook and nodded. “Good to meet you, I know it's tough but you can trust me. We'll have you back to yourself in no time.”

“No.” He said, shaking his head. “You can't do this if I don't agree.”

“Actually, since you're still a minor we only need parental permission, and your mother here thinks it would be best to start you on a course of antipsychotics and once a week therapy sessions.”

“What? Mom, please don't do this to me.”

“Sorry, but I am putting my foot down on this one.” She insisted. “And if all else fails, I've made arrangements for you to stay at the facility. Though we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Dennis felt his chest tighten just a little more. His eyes flitted from his mother, to the doctor, to Leigh and continued to do so for several seconds, feeling ganged up on and defeated. At that moment, the dizziness he'd been suffering with over the last few weeks, came on even stronger and thought he just might hit the floor. It didn't happen, but he gripped the doorframe anyway, just in case.

“Your course of antipsychotics starts tomorrow.” She added. “And I've sent your Duster off to the shop for repairs, you should get it back by the end of the week.”

Though he had heard her, he wasn't really listening. As crazy as it sounded, the worst part to him wasn't being forced into a therapist's office, nor to take pills that he didn't need. The worst thing was how they had gone behind his back, and the feeling of betrayal. Without a word to anyone, and without making any eye contact, he stalked out the door and down the driveway. He didn't stop until he was far enough from the house that they could neither see nor hear him, then dropped to his knees on the grass verge. He brought both hands to his temples and squeezed until his knuckles went white from the pressure. Burning hot tears came one after the other, running straight down his cheeks and pooling in the corners of his mouth until he could taste the salt on the tip of his tongue. Dennis drew in a deep breath, taking in as much air as his lungs would allow, and screamed into the dewy morning. It was a scream, not of terror, but pain that started in the pit of his stomach and traveled up through his chest and throat, escaping through his mouth into the open air. A most harrowing sound that came to an end only as his hoarse voice cracked and he wheezed and retched, almost vomiting right there and then.

After several minutes on his knees, he managed to drag himself back on his feet and started back towards the house. When he got through the door, his mother and the doctor were nowhere to be seen and Leigh was  on the bottom of the stairs staring blankly at her hands as she fidgeted with her fingers.

“Where's my mom?”

“She left with the doctor, said she had things to do at home.”

Dennis only nodded and then hurried past her and up the stairs. He didn't care to respond as she followed and called after him, in less than a few minutes, he would be out of the house and wouldn't be back. As he stumbled into her room, he grabbed his jacket and tie from the floor and then barged past her to get out again.

“Can't we at least talk about this?” She questioned, following him once again.

“No.” He said flatly. “You went behind my back and hurt me, I have nothing left to say to you.”

“There's nothing I can do?”

“Not anymore.” He shrugged. “Should have been honest with me from the start, instead you lied.”

“Have I really lost you forever?” She pressed as he reached the front door.

Dennis froze and turned for a moment, taking note of the mess of curls that her hair had become since their earlier argument and redness of her eyes that told him she'd been crying. Part of him wanted to give in, to tell her it was okay and that he forgave her. Except it wasn't, and he didn't. He wasn't sure he had it in him to move past what she had done. He closed his eyes and swallowed, knowing he was going to hurt them both with his answer.

“I don't know why you'd thought there would be any other outcome to this; yes, Leigh. You have lost me forever.” He kept his tone cold and void of any anger or upset as he said the words.

With all said and done, Dennis took one last look and then disappeared through the door without a single glance back over his shoulder. As much as he wanted to, he knew that if he did, he'd only crumble again. The only thing left now was to carry on as best he could, and to go along with his mother's plan- at least to convince everyone that he wasn't crazy. Even if it meant having to deal with Christine on his own. If it resulted in death… he shrugged at the thought. If she ended up killing him, no one would miss him and the pain would be gone. A win, if anything.

For the next three weeks, he did exactly that. Woke up in the mornings, took his daily dose of antipsychotics to please his mother, drove the newly repaired Duster to and from school, went to therapy, and managed to avoid Leigh nine out of ten times. As the days slipped past, he thought less and less about Christine or Arnie, and she seemed not to make any more appearances. Some days he almost did believe that it really was just his mind playing tricks on him, but each time he started to think that way, there was always something that reminded him that he wasn't crazy at all.

As the saying goes, what goes around… eventually comes back around- and she did. Not for those three weeks, but at the beginning of the fourth, on a crisp day in early March. Spring had just started to push back against the harsh winter weather, and the seniors at Libertyville high were knee deep in preparations for prom and graduation.

Dennis hadn't even thought about either. He planned on giving prom a miss, and there was still time for him to figure out what he was going to do after high school was over. But until then, he had to keep doing his best to make it through the days. This Monday was no exception.

As per the usual, he rolled out of bed a little before seven, showered, took his dose of medication, and drove to school in the Duster. He waded through the mix of students in the hall until he reached his locker, where he stopped, not only to gather the appropriate books for his first class, but to catch his breath. The last few weeks had flown by, but each day that passed it seemed to only grow harder to pretend that he was fine, and that he wasn't desperately clinging to the frayed threads of whatever was left within him.

A tap on his shoulder startled him, pulling him back from the dark corners of his own head, and he turned around. He half expected to see Leigh standing before him but relaxed visibly when instead, it turned out to be Rosanne who'd snuck up on him.

“Hi.” She said, with a big toothy grin on her face before he could open his mouth to ask any questions.

“Umm… hi?” He hesitated. “How- I mean, what is-” Dennis chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes to the floor as he felt his cheeks flush.

“Oh, don't be shy.” She giggled.

“I'm not… sorry, this was just not expected.” He muttered. “Is there something you need?”

Dennis observed Rosanne in the minute before she spoke again, feeling flustered as she ran her eyes up and down him. He couldn't help but dread her answer as he took note of the twinkle in her eyes that she had as she finally fixed her stare back on his face.

“Prom's coming up in a couple of months, I was just wondering…” She trailed off, shuffling her feet, her eyes once again drifting up and down several times before settling on his face. “Since we were good together, you and I… if you'd maybe wanna go with me?”

That was the last thing he had expected. Though it didn't surprise him in the slightest. Even though it had been he who had broken things off with her, he wasn't oblivious to her constant staring when she sat behind him in class or the whispers among her friends whenever he walked by.

“Oh, actually I was thinking of giving prom a miss.” He shrugged. “I kinda just got out of something and I'm not really looking to hook up with anyone right now.”

“Really?” Rosanne pouted. “Okay, but you know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Dennis nodded and forced a small smile. That seemed to do the trick as the blonde grinned harder and then walked off back to her friends on the other side of the hall. Heaving a sigh, he traded the books in his bag for the ones in his locker and slammed it shut. He held no negative feelings towards the girl, she had been great company before his accident on the field. But she wasn't Leigh, and he had no intention of letting anyone close enough to hurt him again. In hindsight, he knew that he was partially to blame for it all, but it still hurt just the same.

The ring of the first bell prevented him from thinking too much about Leigh, or anything for that matter. Not even when he walked into Chemistry class and saw her sitting in her usual seat. He glanced at the seat in front, which he usually took, and then turned to the row on the opposite side and threaded himself through to the seat nearest the window. Throughout the hour, he didn't look in her direction again, and as soon as the class came to an end, he made a swift exit before she could catch up to him. In another twenty minutes he would be cutting out early to attend his weekly therapy session, and despite knowing that he didn't need them, he was grateful because it meant avoiding Leigh would be easy.

On his way out, he made a sharp left into the boys bathroom to take a leak, wash his hands and once he finished up, hurried himself along to the Duster. The sooner he got out of the school, the better. Though he would be back for the afternoon, which was something he had come to dread every Monday. Dealing with Leigh and her betrayal was something he would have to do with eventually, but it didn't stop him from putting it off for as long as possible. At least, until it stopped hurting so damn much. That way, he wouldn't risk working himself up and acting like an idiot, the way he had the morning he'd come downstairs to find her and his mother discussing him.

Dennis turned the keys in the ignition and the Duster's engine roared into life, but before he put it in drive, he looked up at the rear view mirror and frowned at the angle that it sat at. It took barely a minute to adjust it back to the way it should have been, but when he next glanced up before pulling out of the space, all colour drained from his face. Suddenly he felt himself overheating again.

In the space directly behind the Duster, he could see Christine. The sun of early spring shone down on her, enveloping her in an almost angelic glow. Dennis shivered, feeling as though someone had taken their finger and ran it down his spine. He had to be crazy. Three weeks without any trouble. Three weeks of therapy and antipsychotics and he had started to believe that all really was just in his head. But as he sat in the driver's seat, staring in the mirror at the devil of a car, any belief he might have had became about as strong as a grown man's belief in Santa Clause.

“Not this time.” He whispered, and rummaged through his backpack until he found what he was looking for; the half-full bottle of meds. “You're not real, and I can prove it.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he twisted the cap off the bottle and shook two pills out into his hand. Another breath and he put them in his mouth, throwing his head back as he struggled to swallow them. Then he looked back into the mirror, and this time, Christine hadn't disappeared.

“She ain't going anywhere, Denny.”

He didn't even need to look to know that Arnie was in the passenger seat beside him. Which version, he couldn't tell just from those five words, and he didn't want to tear his eyes away from the rear view mirror, afraid that if he let Christine out of his sight, she would move in on him.

“Go away.”

“Can't do that, I'm afraid.”

This time, Dennis turned his head partly so that he could see Arnie and keep his eye on Christine at the same time. It was, in fact, the version of Arnie he had grown up with. The same specter that he'd seen back in the church on the morning of his father's funeral. Not much comfort, that was. Sure, if Arnie had survived and he'd been a living being, but he wasn't. He was a corpse. Or a ghost. Maybe both? There was no sure way of knowing, and he certainly wasn't about to reach over and touch him to find out.

“I told you, Denny. Told you from the start, the shitters always turn on you in the end.”

“No, they only did what they did because they care.” He denied.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night.”

“Go away.”

“Don't you wanna spend some quality time with your best friend?” Arnie pouted. “If you just gave in, we could spend a lot more time together.”

Dennis laughed, a strangled sound that was far from joyous, and sticky snot squelched in his nostrils when he inhaled again. His mind was too full of thought to really decipher what Arnie was saying. That, and he didn't care to try.

“We could have spent more time together if you didn't abandon me for that fucking car.” He said, and his eyes left the rear view mirror for the first time to get a good look at Arnie.

The latter wasn't even facing him. He was sitting straight with his stare focused on the parking lot beyond the windscreen, his glasses balancing too perfectly on the bridge of his nose and his black hair swept neatly to the side. He looked just the same as he always did before… Christine. At the reminder of the ‘58 Plymouth, he stole a quick glance in the rear view mirror and the breath was stolen from his lungs as he saw that the space behind the Duster was, once again, empty.

“You wanna watch, Denny.” Arnie hissed. “The girl doesn't take kindly to shitters.”

“Girl? Girl! She's not a girl, dipshit! She's a car. A fucking car that once belonged to an ill-tempered man, nothing more! She's an it, not a girl. You hear me? It is a fucking piece of junk!”

The words were out before he could swallow them back. He barely even heard himself saying them, but knew he had when he saw Arnie's face. Up until then his expression had been stoic, but now his brows were creased into a frown and his eyes were darker than the night he'd been killed. Dennis realized his mistake too late. Arnie lunged across the console, grabbed him by the short hair at the back of his head and yanked his head back with a force that, any harder, could have snapped his neck like a twig.

“I'll make you sorry, you shitter!” He hissed. “Better yet, I'll make you wish she would kill you.”

“Ah- Arnie!” Dennis choked, screwing his eyes shut as his head started to burn.

“Shut up!” Arnie screamed, and all too fast, slammed his face into the wheel.

Once. Twice. Three times. Then not again, and the burning of his head, where Arnie had gripped him stopped abruptly. Dennis opened his eyes, and through the blur of his sight, could just about make out the empty passenger seat. Arnie was gone. If he had been there at all. He almost believed that he'd imagined the entire conversation… except for the throbbing of his nose and the watering of his eyes that told him otherwise. Something warm and sticky trickled down his philtrum and over his upper lip before dripping down into his mouth, leaving a strong metallic taste on the tip of his tongue. Dennis pulled down the sun visor and looked in the small square mirror in the center to examine his face.

Blood was gushing from both nostrils and when he opened his mouth, all the teeth that were visible were painted red. It looked, not like someone had slammed his face into the wheel of the Duster, but like a brick had been dropped on his face from a great height. On his cheekbone, just beneath his left eye, the skin had gone a purplish colour, and his lower lip was also bleeding where it had been split open.

A figment of his imagination could talk, just the way a child's imaginary friend could talk to them. What it couldn't do, was physically hurt him. No, only a malevolent spirit or a certain kind of entity could bring pain to the living. Dennis had never really been a believer in those things. Not until he'd had a front row seat to witness Arnie slowly become possessed by Roland D. LeBay. It was a strange feeling, but he was grateful that Arnie, or whatever it was that he'd been talking to, had smashed his face into the wheel because it proved one thing; he wasn't crazy.