Quentin sat next to you in the car, his hands full of syringes, pills and some small bottles of medicine. Everything so that you two wouldn't sleep.

"Okay, I got this from the pharmacy... I had to steal it, the pharmacist said he wouldn't give us the pills anymore because it's not healthy to stay awake for so long."

He said, looking at you with a tired look. Quentin's eyes had deep circles under them, caused by days without proper sleep.

The reason for all this? It was so obvious. You didn't want to run into Freddy Krueger. Himself. He killed you in your dreams and you died in real life, your friends died like that.

"Come on. What do you want first? The pills or the syringes?"

Quentin closed the car door, turning to look at you.