Drawn to the Flames

 Originally posted on Tumblr: Oct 1st 2024

 

“Carter, is this so stupid. They say it’s haunted.” Waylon stated for the umpteenth time as he followed his friend down the abandoned trail. The longer they walked, the more Waylon found himself brushing the floppy brown curls of his mop hair out of his eyes. Carter didn’t struggle at all in that department, having his straight blonde hair cut short, during summer. The afternoon sun was at its peak, but thankfully the boys were shielded by the trees in the woods. Waylon’s eyes darted around as he realized he couldn’t hear a single thing, not a bird singing, an insect buzzing, or a car horn far in the distance. Nothing, but his and Carter’s footsteps in the dirt. Waylon didn’t fear the woods or a walk through them, but Carter’s planned destination within them was another thing entirely. 

Carter had overheard college students talking about a party they’d thrown last week. As awesome as they made the party sound, his real focus was on the students being confused as to why they leftover drinks. According to them everyone there was accounted for, with an extra drink, but still, they had about six remaining. Which meant that three people didn’t show up, but their head count concluded everyone invited was there. People going missing in a supposedly haunted area. The moment Carter heard that his ears perked up, he was a boy of adventure if nothing else. Wandering around town was nothing new to Carter, with the few hints the college students gave, he knew where to head.

Waylon understood himself. He was an indoor kid who felt more at home behind a computer or TV screen. However, he never understood Carter’s fascination with anything outdoors related. Carter was just as skinny as him but had a determination to explore everywhere. Waylon didn’t get why a kid who wasn’t exactly peak athleticism wanted to be so active. Kids like them were naturally suited to staying inside where it was safe. Their only major physical difference was Carter’s tan from always being in the sun, contrasted to Waylon’s paler tone. Then of course there were Carter’s striking green eyes and toothy grin. That grin was going to be the death of Waylon. Carter would smile just the right way as if asking, “You want to get into some trouble?” and Waylon’s resolve would crumble.

“Don’t you think we’re a bit old to be doing this?” Waylon was hunched over, still walking. He couldn’t imagine any other graduated seniors in high school spending their last summer this way. Not to mention, His sack pack was starting to feel heavy, yet the only thing in there was a water bottle. He put his head up to look at Carter a good few pace ahead of him.  

Carter had stopped and turned around, putting his hands on his hips. “Didn’t know there was an age limit on exploration,” He said with a chipper demeanor. “But you can leave if you want. I’m fine to go on my own.” Carter took off his own sack pack and retrieved his water bottle, drinking from it before putting it away.

Waylon huffed. Carter could be so oblivious to anything that wasn’t an ‘adventure’.  If Carter would take five minutes to actually think, why would Waylon sacrifice his A/C controlled house and beloved games to stroll outside in the hot summer? He’d realize why Waylon wouldn’t leave.  Waylon stood straight catching his breath, “I can’t leave, what if you get hurt?”

Carter shrugged, “I’m fine with getting hurt. I’m more concerned about you.”  Injury was nothing new to him. Carter had once broken his arm climbing in a tree and over the years, he had amassed a fine collection of bruises and scars, now mostly faded. Not because Carter had learned to limit his dangerous explorations, rather a sign of his adaptation and learning. 

“ME, why?”

Carter rolled his eyes as he turned away, “This whole time you’ve been trying to get me to turn back, dude. Even though you came out with me. Basically, you keep saying: I don’t wanna do this.” Carter slightly turned back, putting his hands up. He wasn’t trying to accuse, simply stating a fact. “Which is totally fine. But it’s endless complaining. You haven’t said one thing about looking forward to this.”

“Fine, fine,” Waylon grumbled moseying behind Carter. 

Finally, the two boys came to a clearing. Up ahead sat an old dilapidated two-story firehouse. The bricks and brownstone had lost their saturated colors to time, crumbling to the forestry that invaded every open crack and crevice.  A majority of the windows had been boarded and the ones not, were missing, large shards of glass now littering the ground below.  The discarded crumpled beer cans and old baseballs easily revealed what college students and other kids did for fun. Faded impressions of missing numbers that once read “11” sat above the entrance to the building. As for the entrance, there was no door, or gate blocking anyone from entry. 

As the boys made their way into the building, Carter smiled pointing up at the missing numbers “You think someone put those in their bedroom?”.

Waylon couldn’t believe there was not a single “No trespassing sign”, had the college students even stolen that? He didn’t respond to his friend’s question. He was way more concerned about hopping around the shattered shards of glass.

“Hellooo,” Carter cupped his mouth and yelled into the rest of the firehouse. The acoustics of the large open building did provide a slight echo, but it all quickly faded into the eerily silence of the forest.  “Any college students here?” He said in his normal voice to no response. Carter waited for a minute placing his hands on his hips looking around. When he was met with further silence he said. “Let’s check out the second floor.”

“Carter, are you crazy?! There’s glass everywhere. If we step on it and it goes through our shoes, we’ll get tetanus?!”

“Um…I think that’s rusty metal?”

“Regardless!” Waylon waved his hands wildly “I will be waiting outside. You can explore and try not to give me a reason to call 911, okay?”

Carter stifled a laugh as Waylon turned and stormed out. He really hadn’t expected his friend to push himself this much.  He loved hanging out with Waylon but, when it came to being outside, Was it not beyond obvious that Waylon HATED IT. Carter would feel bad about turning him away from a venture, but Waylon also made it seem like Carter had personally dragged him along. 

Once Waylon’s huffs could no longer be heard, Carter continued exploring the abandoned firehouse. The interior wasn’t so bad, except for a broken pipe leaking water off on the side. It came out in slow drips and echoed through the interior. Carter stared at it thinking. There was something off. Sure, the broken glass, faded bricks, and encroaching plants made sense, but how long had the place been abandoned? Would water still be dripping out, or was rainwater pooling from somewhere else?  

Curious about it, Carter walked over. The pipe had disconnected above another ruined window. However, the closer Carter got the less he could hear the drips of water onto the floor. No doubt he was still watching it occur, but it was as if the world had turned the volume down. Instead, as Carter drew nearer, with his slower walk, he heard whispers.  For a moment he was worried someone had followed him and Waylon, but who would be interested enough to visit in the daytime? Carter glanced towards the entrance, expecting to see Waylon standing there, but he was gone. Carter did briefly wonder where his friend wandered off to, but he was drawn back to the incessant low chattering. Too quiet to distinguish what was being said, but clear enough for him to recognize the words.  And with every step closer to the window, the voices he heard got louder.  Carter was sure he’d find a discarded phone or Ipod somewhere on the floor and that would explain everything. 

He took his eyes off the floor, to stare into the woods past the window. Perhaps the sounds were from out there? Though when Carters’ eyes looked at the window, it took them a moment to recognize what they were seeing. It wasn’t the trees, grass, or even the rustling winds. They were all the same. The issue came, not from beyond the window, but within it. The reflection Carter was seeing on the broken glass was of someplace else. He was standing in the same spot, but his reflection showed an altered fire house. At first too transparent to distinguish all the details, Carter got closer, and the reflection became clearer along with the voices. By the time Carter was up close it was as if the glass had shifted into a mirror. The reflection however showed a refurbished fire house, same layout, but not a patch of grass or dirt anywhere. Behind Carter’s reflection, and off center stood three burly men, in a circle, talking as other people walked past them. Carter had seen enough TV shows to figure out the men and others were firefighters in their casual uniforms.  

Now, nose almost right on the window, there was no mistaking what he was seeing as a trick of light. The voices were so close as if they were just right there, only muffled by the existence of the window. At that moment one of the men happened to look up and spot Carter. He raised his hand in the air motioning for Carter to join them, Carter spun on his feet. 

Nobody was there.

He was still standing in the same abandoned firehouse. He slowly turned around laughing, maybe the story the college kids had told had gotten to him. Cater froze upon looking in the window. Instead of his reflection, there stood the visage of another buff firefighter; tight shirt, pants and all. Carter jumped back, raising an arm to defend himself as the man did to. When nothing happened immediately, Carter lowered his arm watching the man in place of his reflection do the same.  The man had curly fiery red hair, shaved on the sides, and the same green eyes as Carter. Carter noted how odd it was to see a completely different person in the mirror and still recognize it as himself. He titled his head stepping toward the window, arms down, watching the man do the same. By the time he was back up to the window he was looking up the man was looking down. Carter raised a hand; the man raised a hand. Carter stuck out his tongue; the man stuck out his tongue.  Carter flexed his biceps not that he had much, but it was cool to see the muscular man test the strength of his short sleeve t-shirt in response. Carter set his arms down laughing, as did his reflection. He had to show Waylon this. But then his strange reflection stopped laughing as its eyes glowed blue.  Now the man in the window had a weird grin nothing like Carter’s jovial smile.  Staring into the new blue-eyed reflection, Carter now felt he wasn’t staring at a strange version of himself but another person entirely.

Carter backed up from the window and tripped, barely managing to throw his hands back to catch himself. On the ground, at his feet Carter spotted a black fireman’s helmet, which had caused him to fall over. Chest beating heavily, Carter looked at the man, then to the helmet on the ground. 

He had the strangest urge that he should wear it.

—-

Waylon scrolled his phone, hiding behind a tree to the left of the firehouse.  He had thrown down his sack pack into the grass. It was all childish, but he was more upset than he cared to admit. Carter’s charisma has an innate warm gravitational pull of a sun that felt impossible to fight against. And did Waylon even want to resist? His best friend not listening was annoying, but Carter wasn’t forcing him. In a way he did sort of tagalong and started putting a damper on Carter’s good time. Therefore, the only conclusion was for Waylon to sulk and feel sorry for himself.  

Though a nice distraction were a few articles he had found out about the fire house. Turns out the college kids weren’t the only ones to go missing. And even before that the firehouse itself had been deserted due to the deaths of some of the firefighters that worked there. Strangely none of the articles ever went into detail about what the incident was. Though it didn’t seem like the firefighters in question died on the premises, but the speculation as to why it shut down tied into hauntings.

“AHHHH!”

A scream rang out from the firehouse and Waylon almost dropped his phone as a result. He recognized the voice straight away, though he had never heard it scream. He sprinted to the empty arch, not wasting a second.

Waylon looked inside, now leaning onto the brick structure almost heaving. Suffice to say, he had never truly run a day in his life and this was proof. “Are you ok?! I heard the scream and—”

Carter stood in the empty firehouse alone. Nothing was around him or approaching him. Not a swarm of bugs nor a wild animal. Any terrible scenario Waylon had envisioned was easily squashed. The only thing Carter was doing was standing alone, holding a fireman’s helmet, staring at it.

“Was that just to get my attention?” Waylon frowned, walking into the firehouse, “It wasn’t funny, I seriously thought you needed help!” His voice carried through the walls and back out into the woods. Waylon was not used to shouting, but Carter wasn’t even looking at him. What kind of prank was this? He finally stood in front of his friend waiting for some explanation. 

“This…helmet…there’s a problem.” Carter’s voice came out, gravelly and scratchy with a note of a somber tone. 

Waylon stared at his best friend as if he was stupid.  “Did you seriously yell, just to make me see some stupid helmet?!” 

Carter’s head snapped up and stared back at Waylon. Waylon felt his blood run cold before he even registered why. Waylon’s body knew the look, as if instinctual; he was being appraised. Funny that. Waylon thought he’d give anything to have Carter look at him with desire but this wasn’t it. The way Carter’s eyes scanned his body were like stranger’s who’d never seen him before.  Finally, their eyes locked. Waylon stared deep into the blue eyes looking back at him. 

“Carter, what’s with your—

Suddenly Carter snorted before laughing and patting on the helmet. “Man, I got you so good.”

“Got me?”

“Come on …Wa-Y-lon, I was just messing with you. Wanted to see how far you went before you pissed your pants.”

Waylon wanted to be relieved. He wanted to join in laughter and brush it all off. But he couldn’t. First Carter had pronounced his name strangely. Next, pranking Waylon specifically to get him to piss his pants, Carter would never do something so mean-spirited. And sure, all of it could be explained away as one-offs, if Carter’s eyes weren’t still fucking blue!

Instead of speaking with Carter, it felt like someone trying to do their pale interpretation of Carter. After all, one would assume what kind of boy wouldn’t prank their friend? Such a normal male thing to do.  But while Carter loved the outdoors, he wasn’t a ruffian. Certainly, never to get under Waylon’s skin.

“Come on, you know I was joking,” Carter threw an arm around Waylon. He pulled him in doing a partial hug. 

Waylon found himself unable to move or speak back. The way Carter had cut off his question earlier was no doubt intentional. He didn’t dare speak now. The Carter imitation was certainly charismatic, but it was the opposite of Carter. There was nothing warm or inviting behind his words, yet Waylon couldn’t pull his attention away. This “Carter” slung words together like a car salesman going in for the closer. That’s when Waylon realized he was staring into a black hole. The words were hollow, cold, and rang false, yet their gravitational pull couldn’t be denied. However, Waylon was way too perturbed to fall into it.

“Sure, a joke…” Waylon did his best to sound as natural as possible, but he could hear every awkward pause syllable his voice clung to. “So, what’s up with this helmet you wanted to show me?”

Carter looked at his free hand still clutching the helmet, his eyes widened. He had forgotten he was even holding something. “This helmet… it’s not”, Carter looked at it harder. “It’s not mine” He sucked his teeth, “Must be yours.” With that Carter slammed the helmet on Waylon’s head, having it plop perfectly. The helmet swallowed Waylon’s head, riding past his eyes. Putting him in darkness.

Waylon tried to remove it immediately, yet no matter how hard he pushed the helmet only came up past his eyebrow. In panicked motions Waylon felt over his head and forehead. The helmet had shrunk wrapped itself to his head. “What’s going on?”. Waylon was going to fight and struggle more but a cold shiver ran through his body. It started from his head and traveled down all the way to the tip of his toes. The cold then centered in his body and expanded out, reaching deep into his limbs and not fading away. 

“You slick son of a bitch,” Waylon heard his voice say, but he was not the one speaking. “Jason.”  That final word was said aloud, but Waylon heard it VERY loud within his mind, and the voice that spoke it was certainly not his inner voice. Waylon knew instantly there was someone else in his head, but it truly didn’t feel like there was. The thoughts in his head and the words he spoke all felt true to him.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that Marty,” Carter’s hands waved playfully, apologizing for whatever faux pax he had made. It was all in good fun, at least on his end.  It was a movement that Waylon had never seen Carter make before…But he’d seen it in Jason’s body language countless times.

“You didn’t get your helmet because you tried to cut the line.” Waylon felt a smirk form across his face. “Now stand back and watch a real man get to work.” Closing his eyes, Waylon’s body steadied his breathing, entering a meditative state. The helmet’s hold got even tighter. 

“What’s happening now?”

“Just focus on breathing.”

“What?”

“Breathe in…and out.”

“What? breathe in and…”

“Out.”

“In and out.”

Every muscle in Waylon’s body tensed, flexing. Pressure built in his spine and legs, as if the world was pressing down on him. He tried to stand on his tippy toes to stretch his body out and release or even push back against the unseen force. Slowly Waylon’s body began to rise. Waylon could hear his blood rushing, bones snapping, and muscles shifting but the pressure was fading so he couldn’t stop. Waylon gritted his teeth, as his legs shot him up into the air while his torso elongated. The clothes on his body had a difficult time keeping up. At first it appeared as they were simply a few sizes too small, but soon the pants rode up too high and the shirt bunched at the shoulders. Waylon could feel his ankles, the shins become exposed as his pants pulled up. Meanwhile his torso was greeting the summer air no longer covered by the length of a medium shirt.

A fuzzy feeling began to surround the part of Waylon’s head trapped under the helmet. It was an odd sensation, almost ticklish, but too layered and soft for any irritation. Beautiful wavy dark raven hair spilled from underneath the helmet. Gone were the unkempt brown curls, replaced with well-maintained vibrant locks. As some of the follicles spilled over his face before falling into place, they brushed against Waylon’s eyebrows, dying those spots the same dark color. Eventually the black would encroach over the brown, leaving no trace of the former color. Then more black hair would emerge on the eyebrows, spurred on by the new look, leaving him with thicker fuller eyebrows.

Waylon knew something was wrong, but when it all felt so right, how wrong was it? Though the voice in his head was telling him not to, Waylon opened his eyes. He thought if he could just see Carter’s face, even the imitations, that’d let him know if he should have been concerned. Waylon lifted his eyelids slowly; there was no figure in front of him. He opened his eyelids fully, only to see the back of the firehouse. His vantage point, however, was entirely off from before, he was way up in the air when he should have been lower. Waylon expected to find himself floating but as he looked down, he first spotted Carter with an inscrutable look on his face. Was he happy, jealous, angry…sad? Continuing to look down at the ground, Waylon spotted his legs & feet, or what should have been his legs & feet. Down, pressed firmly on the ground were huge flippers for feet, attached to toned long legs. Waylon hadn’t even noticed when he had stopped standing on his toes. He lifted his right leg and watched as his body responded, the foreign limb was certainly his. Underneath his foot, was a smashed pile of what was formerly his tennis shoe, which explained the scraps of fabric around it.

Before Waylon could contemplate any of it, a tightness formed around his head. The helmet that had been forced on him was shrinking. Waylon instinctively used his hands to try and take it off. For the second time, Waylon found himself shocked as he was utilizing arms that were way more muscular than they should have been. Being homebound had certainly not awarded him the strapping biceps and triceps he had now. Waylon was conflicted between wanting to study his new form and getting the helmet off. As Waylon’s fingers pressed and rubbed against this skull, he could feel the structural integrity of his face and head shifting. That’s when Waylon realized, perhaps the helmet wasn’t shrinking; his head was getting larger.

With twists and turns Waylon struggled against the helmet with no help from Carter. Waylon was throwing his whole body into it moving around the empty space, praying glass didn’t cut his foot. If that wasn’t bad enough, Waylon could hear his body growing again. The sounds of his shirt and pants being torn to shreds filled the entirety of the firehouse alongside his grunting. It was his shirt that was ruined first, as his shoulders’ width was too much to bear, aided by his pecs popping out, pulling at the seam’s stitching. Next, his thighs, and ass tripled in size and exploded his chino’s right off. Reduced to his underwear, Waylon rested an arm against a wall; he needed a small respite then he could keep going. Waylon then turned and put his back on the wall, hearing the helmet clunk against it. None of his body had stopped its new muscular development esp not his pecs. His chest was putting on size and mass that would make a breastfeeding mother jealous. Waylon tried to use his new expanded hands to hold them in and stop their protrusion, to no avail. His chest was determined to be the biggest.

“The biggest among all the guys.”

There was that voice again, and biggest among what guys? Waylon’s nipples pushed through his fingers, hanging out in the open more tantalizing to suck than a baby’s bottle. From the center of his chest a few dark hairs emerged, but that wasn’t the biggest cause for concern. A wave of tanned skin that only got more golden and brown spread from his chest.  Waylon screamed at the sudden shock of it. As it flew down his torso it created a treasure trail in its wake and lighter hairs over his abs. Upon flying into his underwear, a dark forest of pubic hair erupted spilling over the top. A lump grew in his boxer-briefs hanging heavier and thicker every passing second. When the colorization got to his limbs his muscles got an extra jolt into accelerating into their final form. As the new darker skin made its way over his neck, it forced dark specs to appear along his neck and surrounding his chin. Soon enough he had a permanent 5 o’clock shadow staining his fast. That sight didn’t last long as familiar black hair began to take root and seize a sizable portion of his face. A beard and mustache came in at full force connecting the two, before getting a heaping of volume, yet staying perfectly maintained.

“Gonna have to shave, this won’t work with the RPE.”

Waylon slid to the ground, his body was tired, and his mind was being filled with memories and knowledge that wasn’t his own. He could imagine himself in a firehouse, THIS firehouse except it was filled with life: other workers, people visiting. He knew all about rushing into fires, saving lives, helping deploy the hose, giving CPR. Waylon felt like he was in two places, the firehouse and…a burning building?  A large grandiose house, falling apart around him. Where was he really? Waylon’s head was swimming; He needed to get the helmet off.

“Carter… help,” Waylon struggled to say watching his chest heave up and down from his peripheral vision. His vocal cords sounded heavy and rich.

Carter suddenly rushed over, his eyes green again, and staring into Waylon’s. No other words were spoken, but Carter immediately tried to pull the helmet off to no avail. However, that did not stop Carter from pulling. Eventually Waylon found the strength to continue pushing while on the ground. Both males were struggling so hard with their eyes closed, pushing and pulling on the helmet, neither noticed how the mangled clothing had reappeared on Waylon’s body. Mangled, however, wouldn’t be an apt word for long, as every fiber and thread was restitching itself into a new thicker material. The growing weight of the forming clothes got heavier than Waylon’s new chest. He opened his eyes to see the shirt split down the middle as yellow stripes with silver lines drew themselves across the materials; a fully formed jacket. The same pattern and coloring copied onto his pants. The remains of his shoes wrapped back together hiding his feet within thick boots as his hands were sealed behind gloves.

——

Finally, the helmet slid into the air gripped tightly by Carter’s hands. Carter opened his eyes smiling, though his face dropped upon seeing no one. The helmet may have been in his hands but Waylon was gone. Carter had no idea what was going on. One minute, he sees a ghost, next his body is moving on its own and he’s antagonizing Waylon, then Waylon’s body is rapidly changing. Then there’s a hot Indian guy where Waylon should be. But then he heard Waylon’s voice and though it didn’t sound like him, Carter knew he had to help. Carter’s eyes went to the helmet as he lowered it. Then he froze upon seeing the front.

It wasn’t the same helmet. 

“Finally,” Carter heard a voice come from deep inside his own head. And the feeling of putting this new helmet on returned like a raging flame. Part of him was aching to reunite with this helmet, HIS helmet. As strong as the pull and desire was, Carter was more concerned about Waylon. He didn’t know what to do. There was no way standing in one place would help him find Waylon and he had the strangest inkling that if he went looking, he wouldn’t find Waylon either. Carter’s solution came to the helmet. That had to be the answer appearing out of nowhere, perhaps he could find Waylon if he too put it on. With trepidation and a deep breath.  Carter plopped the helmet on his head.

Time seemed to stop as Carter finally felt in unison. He needed to wear the helmet, and he wanted to wear the helmet. Then he heard:

“Oh yeah, let’s fucking GROW!!!!!”

Warmth took over Carter’s inside, starting from his chest and growing, till he felt a tingling in his toes and fingertips. There was also a lingering sensation on his head right under the helmet that only got stronger. A force within him was causing Carter’s body to change and adapt.

The veins in his arms rose on his skin, over his bicep and down to his hands. Carter began to sweat as the comfortable warmth went from inside, to surrounding him as an intense heat. His eyes flung open, and a flash of fire appeared before dying out. Carter jumped back and the firehouse was gone and there was nothing in his field of vision but flames. He was in some sort of living room, there was a sound in the distance, sirens maybe. But there were closer sounds coming from higher up, even with the roar of the flames, Carter could tell they were cries for help. Carter walked towards the noise, covering his face with his shirt. Leading him into a grand foyer burning. Wherever he was, every room was huge, a McMansion set ablaze. Another man busted into his vision, coming from the dining room. Carter could see him plain as day. And that should have been strange to see another guy standing in a raging fire in house clothes, but Carter didn’t comment on it.

“MARTY!” He said in a voice not his own. The strange Indian man connected eyes with him. Carter knew this man. Rather this stranger looked eerily similar to the man Waylon has just turned into. Though there were some subtle differences. This man had combed back hair, no facial hair, well fit but nowhere near the hulking person Waylon became. The biggest tell however was the face, for Carter there was something distinctly ‘Waylon’ missing in his features. The name was recognizable though; his body had said it earlier in the firehouse. This Marty guy was the one inside of Waylon!  But where was Carter now? Was he still physically in the firehouse? He’d blink and he could almost see and hear himself grunting alone in that old place.

“The grandmother said the parents are in the basement, the children are in their rooms.” Marty shouted. “Frank and I will go get the parents; you take Sean and George to rescue the kids.” 

Carter’s head nodded, though he wasn’t sure how he was going to do any of that. A sudden weight came upon him. Carter realized he was wearing a fireman’s uniform, and it was heavy. He looked back at Marty who was also now decked out in full gear. Marty disappeared into the house as the flames took over, where he once stood.  The cries from upstairs continued and Carter felt his body move into position. “Follow me boys!”  Then he ran to the elaborate burning twin staircase steps. Taking the one on the right, Carter’s body didn’t hesitate to go up. The stairs, however, seemed to never end stretching out into eternity. If that wasn’t bad enough the fireman’s uniform was baggy and several sizes too large for him. It was a losing battle and Carter knew it, unless something changed.

The main problem was his legs. They were too short to help him cover the ground he needed. No way the stairs would end unless he took a big step. Carter began to skip steps and when he did his legs grew to accommodate a greater length. Height was a problem Carter didn’t have time to deal with if he was going to save those kids. So, his body gave him the answer and kept him growing. He left behind 5’10 and 5 ‘11 in the blink of an eye and still kept rising. His uniform didn’t have any trouble keeping up, rather it was more like the bundle of clothing was unfurling with every inch he added on.  By the time he got to 6’5 he knew there was something wrong. His body was bigger, but he needed more than just size. 

Stamina was the next obstacle to tackle. While Carter would have loved to continue up the never-ending stairs for as long as it took, As an untrained person in fire resistant gear it was only a matter of time before his body gave out. The cries didn’t stop however and neither would Carter. He gave deep intentful breaths through his powered air-purifying respirator. While each breath and another step climbed, Carter’s lungs expanded, pushing his chest further out for ample intake. His calves throbbed, having the effects of countless flights of stairs etched onto their very being as they built muscle to keep Carter going. This was all aided by his thighs and ass gaining more mass to demand a bigger push from his legs. 

Finally, he was the first to make it to the top floor standing at his full height of 6’7. He was thankful it was a mansion and not a regular house where he’d be combating the ceiling.  He made his way down the fire infested hallway in the direction of the voices. His men were only a few feet behind him when the roof collapsed around him. Thankfully only a few pillars in front of him fell but men were blocked by burning wood and debris. “Probably from the Goddamn aftershocks! You guys go back; I’ll keep going.” Carter was at a loss as to what aftershocks, but he knew he was right. 

Wooden planks blocked his path, but Carter knew that wouldn’t stop him. 

“I’m freaking Jason McDean, not going to let some hot mulch stop me. What would everyone back at the station say?”

Carter knew the voice, but the words weren’t directed at him. And how odd to hear an anxious and playful version of the voice rattling in his head. Whoever Jason was, Carter could tell he was mentally hyping himself up to continue going through the house. Carter watched as his gloved hands reached out and pulled at the wood. Then again, Carter was reconsidering if it was his body. The size of the hands in the gloves were certainly not his own. Finally, the name clicked into his head, Marty had talked to Jason in the firehouse via Waylon and Carter’s bodies. Carter’s body pushed on the wood to move it, but it would not budge. Everything was turning to cinders around him and time was running out. He pushed harder as his arms began to swell with muscle. The material of his coat rubbed against his rising skin, as there was less free internal space left. 

Even with the intense heat, there was a gush of wind that Carter felt from nowhere. He struggled on and suddenly his vision shifted. He was standing in the firehouse, and it was his body growing the wind blowing in from the forest. With a flash he was back inside the crumbling house.

When he went to move another plank, Carter felt his motions being limited. His shoulders were getting so gargantuan the sleeves scrunched up and revealed his wrists further down. Not that it would have helped to hide his thickened wrists regardless. Embers were brushing past his face, but it didn’t stop Carter, even when his chest popped open the coat, spilling out two pecs and rising abs. There was no way he was practicing fire safety, but it was too good to stop. His pants ripped in the back leaving his buns to toast. The heat of the flame, however, only encouraged his cheeks to continue reaching outward, reducing its own covering. Carter’s mind wasn’t on the changing uniform. It was hard to say where his mind was. The longer he was in the house the more he felt his mind crammed with Jason’s. As if this was where he belonged, saving people. Even if he was afraid there was nothing that would ultimately stop him. This was his job, A MAN’S JOB. There was a singing sensation on the sides of his head. Were the flames that close? The fire or perhaps simply the heat was burning onto his scalp mixing into his hair, even with his helmet on.

When he removed all the debris blocking his path and stopped through the rising fires, His uniform came together once again as if it had never ripped at all.  

The screams only came from one door, so that he was quick to break down. Two kids had huddled inside, with enough forethought to put a towel at the bottom of the door. Unfortunately, they had also opened a window to draw the attention of the fire fighters outside. Thankfully the fire didn’t come rushing for the window, and the firefighters outside were working on getting a ladder truck up. Carter was careful to make sure the kids weren’t afraid of him, then hand them off to his team outside.  Less than a minute he handed off the last kid he heard a rumble as the ground shook …

and then black.

Carter opened his eyes in the empty abandoned firehouse. He was on the floor, breathing heavily, catching up to everything that had just transpired, wondering how he got back. It took him a moment to realize he was nude, until another cool breeze passed by.  His clothes were in pieces on the ground, just like with Waylon.  The helmet laid off to the side, in that final commotion he must have knocked it off. That’s when Carter realized he had never left the firehouse. The voice in his head, the man in the window, one in the same; Carter had just watched the last moment of Jason McDean’s life. Or at least some nightmare fantasy version of it. Carter caught sight of his reflection in the broken glass.  A huge naked guy wearing a fire helmet. He walked over to get a look at himself. His reflection looked like Jason with notable exceptions, for one Carter was way taller, closer to his height in the burning house. Then there was the fact his eyes were still green. He cautiously reached up and lifted his helmet, surprised to see it come off. His hair was faded on the sides but let up to a healthy head of strawberry blonde hair that curled towards his forehead. Every time he had been growing or changing in the house, he was changing here too. Carter flexed his arm mesmerized by the size of his bicep, before realizing Waylon hadn’t returned. He glanced at the helmet in his right hand. Unlike Waylon he was still nude, which meant he probably had one last thing to do. 

—–

Carter awoke abruptly to someone hitting his feet. He turned around groaning, trying to hide his face under the pillow, but it was quickly snatched away. “Waylon, go easy on me.” He stretched his arms out begging for the pillow back. 

“Oh no, it’s not my fault you spend multiple hours looking at yourself in the mirror.” Waylon launched the pillow at Carter’s head.” Now get your ass up, the fire station’s sleeping quarters aren’t YOUR hideaway, and Sean wants to beat your ass in poker. 

Rising in bed Carter got a good look at Waylon. They have been friends since they were kids, but one Waylon got on the force it seemed puberty exploded out of him. “Didn’t you have a beard?” Carter asks, grasping at the wisp of a fading memory.

Waylon chuckled, “Did you fall asleep and suddenly forget safety regulations? I can’t have a beard out on the field” He wiped his shaven face. Carter watched Waylon walk out, especially eyeing his ass.

Their fire station was new only two months old, no way was he not going to sleep on the pristine high-quality beds. And what the hell was Waylon going on about, he certainly did not spend last night looking at himself. He turned his attention towards the body length mirror in the room. Carter yelped upon seeing himself in the mirror and jumped out of bed landing on the floor. For some reason he expected to see an entirely different image, shorter, blonder, perhaps? Sprayed out on the floor he wondered why in hell would he even think that. His brain was not adapting to being awake well. Getting up he rubbed his head, looking back at his reflection. How stupid was he? It was only him and his reflection.