I was drowning. My body felt weightless and my lungs burned. The sound of someone's voice travelled to my ears, sounding muffled and bubbly as if I were actually underwater.

"Lara if you don't wake up this fucking second I'm leaving without you."

Someone was shaking me. I could feel my brain bouncing around inside my skull and I wanted to cry out and tell them to stop. But I couldn't move and I couldn't speak. I was trapped.

"Don't get mad at me for what I'm about to do."

*SLAP*

I resurfaced instantly, pushing away whoever was holding me and falling to my knees. I had a fit of coughing, my body trying to rid itself of the water I knew was all in my head.

Once it had subsided, I looked up to stare at my companion. My eyes trailed upwards from the dark maroon Dr. Martens, to his torn and bloody yellow shirt with the stupid cat on it. He was looking at me with the same blank facial expression, but this time there was a hint of surprise.

I pushed myself up off the ground and met his gaze. "Did you just slap me?"

"Yeah." he replied.

"Why?"

"You weren't waking up."

"So? You didn't have to hit me." My tongue trailed over gap in my teeth that was there once again and I felt my heart sink. He did that to me.

"What else should I have done?" he replied, and I had no answer for that.

I took a step forward, to hug or hit him I wasn't sure, but as I noticed his arms I stopped in my tracks.

"What did you do?" I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from the shackles around his wrists. The metal chains were dangling from them and brushing the ground. As I looked behind him, I saw the cracks in the wall.

"Patrick." I whispered, "How the fuck were you strong enough to do that."

He looked down at his hands in surprise, as if only just noticing the deep cuts in his wrists from yanking the chains out of the wall. I could see bits of flesh that were folded over backwards, revealing a flash of white flesh underneath.

I wanted to gag. I had no idea how he had the strength to remain so still.

As if reading my thoughts, he started to wobble. He swayed to the right, his feet trying to keep up with his upper body but failing. He fell sideways and landed in a puddle of water with a splash.

I let out a cry and ran forward, falling too my knees next to his body. He was lying on his back, his eyes staring up glassily.

"Oh god, oh god." I cried, looking around frantically. I had to get the shackles off, and then find something to soak up the blood. But how? There was no key hole on the shackles, or any breaks in the metal. There was no way they could've fit over his hands, so how was I supposed to get them off?

"Lara." he groaned, and I turned to see him looking at me.

"Patrick, oh my god." I cradled his face with my hands, wiping away the blood with my thumbs

"You're not..." he started, but his eyes fluttered from dizziness before he started again. "You're not going to... replace me, are you?"

I let out a sob and buried my face in his shirt.

"God no, Patrick. You're going to make it. Don't talk like that"

"Promise me... Promise you won't replace me."

"I could never replace you!" I replied, scared and confused. He started to lift his hand up, but I pushed it back down. "No, don't. It'll only make it hurt worse."

"It doesn't hurt." he replied, and I shook my head.

"Patrick, don't try and be brave or whatever. It's okay to-"

"I'm not lying. It doesn't hurt." he replied, deadpan.

"Then why did you fall to the ground just then?!"

"Sometimes I don't notice when I'm hurt... And my body goes all weak on me."

I searched his face for any signs of a bluff, but he was as expressionless and as serious as always. I stood up and he tried to follow me, but I shook my head. "At least let me cut off the chains so it isn't as heavy."

I drew my eyes back to his mangled wrists, but regretted it instantly.

After minutes of searching through the pile of old belongings, I found something better than I had hoped for.

As I approached Patrick, holding it in my hands, he looked at me with wide eyes. He had brought himself to a sitting position and wasa leaning against the wall.

"Don't miss." he said, before laying his hands out besides him. I told him to stretch his arm out further away from him in case I did hit him, which was likely, before I held the axe above my head.

"I'm sorry if you don't have an arm after this." I said seriously, before closing my eyes and bringing it down with a loud *CLANK*.

In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have closed my eyes. But when I opened them, a sigh of relief passed through me as I saw his arm still intact.

Well, as intact as it was before.

The chain was severed a couple of inches away from the shackles and I couldn't help but feel proud of myself. I dropped the axe, not wanting to have to feel the weight of it in my hands anymore, but Patrick raised his eyebrow at me.

"I do have two arms, you know."

With a groan, I picked up the axe again. This time when I swung the axe down, it was much closer to hitting him. I could tell it was taking all of his strength not to flinch and even I let out a yelp as I saw how close it had gotten.

He lifted his arm up, showing me how there wasn't any chain left dangling. There was even a scratch on the shackle from the axe. He shook his head before muttering something.

"Sorry, what was that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing."

"I just saved you from dying."

"I wouldn't have died."

"You literally collapsed onto the floor a few minutes ago."

"I wouldn't have died."

"Whatever." I huffed, bending down and wrapping my arm around him underneath his shoulders.

"You know I'm quite happy just laying here." he said, his face shockingly pale and covered in a sheen of sweat.

"No, we've got to get out of here before the clown gets back." I said, looking around nervously.

"I don't think it will be back anytime soon. It's a bit preoccupied with eating your friends." Patrick replied.

My heart stopped. "What did you just say?"

"I said-"

"No I heard what you said." I cut him off. "Why do you think it's eating my friends?"

"Because I heard them scream." Patrick replied.

"When?!" I asked, craning my ears as if I would be able to hear them.

"While you were getting eaten by the clown."

"Well, how do you know it's them?"

"Who else would willingly come down here? They're trying to save you two." he said, nodding his head behind me.

I turned around to see Beverly still floating in the air, and I let out a gasp. I had completely forgotten about her.

"Quick, help me get her down." I said, getting up and standing under her. I tried jumping, but I was well over a metre short.

"Because I'd be so much help." Patrick replied and I gave him a dirty look. Since when did he get so sarcastic?

I looked around frantically, but couldn't see anything that would be tall and stable enough for me to stand on. "Fuck, fuck!" I looked up at her anxiously.

"I didn't know you liked peeking up girls' dresses too." Patrick said, referring to the fact that I could see everything up there.

"I hate you so much." I groaned, tearing my eyes away from Beverly and moving back to him. "You're coming with me. We're going to find my friends, we'll come back for Beverly, and then we'll get the hell out of here."

He didn't object as I wrapped my arm around him once again and hoisted him up. I wobbled under his weight, almost falling over. He noticed and tried to lessen my burden, but he was still very heavy.

"You look like a stick yet you weigh a ton." I muttered and I heard him snort. Slowly but surely, we made our way over to the only open exit. "What else did I miss while I was out?"

Patrick hesitated. "Nothing much. You were dragged in and unconscious. That redheaded girl came on the same day you did. She saw you when she woke up and tried to help you, but It got her."

"Nothing much? Jesus, why didn't you help Beverly? You didn't seem to have much trouble getting yourself free just before." I snapped. He didn't reply.

"And what the fuck was with you when I woke up?" I asked, stopping in my tracks. We were right outside the exit, and I could see nothing but darkness inside the sewer. We didn't have a flashlight.

"I didn't realise it was you." he replied quietly.

"What the fuck does that mean? You were gone a week, surely you hadn't forgotten my face by then?"

Patrick hesitated and leaned into me more heavily. "The clown... The clown pretended to be you."

My heart dropped. "What? Why?"

"To scare me, probably. But I'm not scared of anything, so it didn't work."

"What did I- what did It do to you?" I asked, and he stiffened.

"It... Fuck, okay. Every day It would drag a body in that had your face, but I knew it wasn't you. It kept saying that it was going to kill me, and then you'd say that you were going to replace me. I was so used to it by then that I didn't realise when it was actually you."

"Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry." I said, but he didn't reply. "Well, you haven't said sorry for slamming my face against the wall. I'm missing a tooth, you know."

"Yeah, I can see that." he replied, looking at me with a satisfied grin. "You look better like this."

"I look better beaten and covered in blood?!"

"Yep."

"What the fuck Patrick?!"

"What? It's true."

"You disgust me so mu-"

Our bickering was cut off by the sound of screams.