A/N

I know what you're all thinking, "Damnit Ash, you should be updating your other stories!" I know, I know… It's just that school has been really stressful lately. I have no real inspiration right now, other than for this. I'm really sorry guys, but maybe this will loosen up the blockage?

Anyways, I also noticed that CaughtNotSleeping, an amazing SlenderSeries on youtube, has no serious fanfiction. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Therefore, I decided to make one for Caught based on Helper. I'm very much intrigued by him, and had this short idea. It's not much, but I think that Caught and Natalie deserve at least one serious story with their channel. Even if it's this piece of s***

Warnings:

Personal ideas on why Helper is doing what he is

Anger

Spoilers if you haven't watched all of CaughtNotSleeping's videos yet.

ON WITH THE STORY

This was not his friend.

Sure, he looked the same, had the same goofy grin, the same sometimes sloped, sometimes straight as a board posture that he couldn't hold for very long. So many things were the same with this person who called himself Caught.

But this was not the same person he'd been friends with for years before.

He'd had to tell himself that when he'd found those YouTube videos featuring the blurry and grainy picture of him asking for help. He hadn't believed it when he'd first seen the video, shaking his head in confusion. He'd thought that his friend was gone. Taken by that THING, killed by one of the others in their group, lost, drowned, mugged, he didn't know. But alive had never really crossed his mind as a plausible thought.

He could have just walked away right then and there. Maybe that thing, even the Showtime Killer would have left him alone then. But his friend was obviously still in it. He couldn't just leave the person he'd known since they were young in this mess. Yet, somehow, it was no longer his friend.

Something had seemed dead about him in that first video. Eyes devoid of life, movements sluggish and without real meaning, hair grown out far longer that he'd ever let it grow out before. That was the first clue that this wasn't his friend. Small pieces of information seemed to lead on from there. Why didn't he remember being chased by that thing? What about the house? Hadn't he remembered anything?

But no. He had sent "Caught" a note containing some basic information via YouTube private messaging just to check if he remembered anything. Of course he didn't. The information he'd helped get was news to him. His friend had mentioned him in a video after that, calling him "Helper".

Helper wanted his friend back. This wasn't his friend; he didn't know this being who had taken over that familiar person. This new person wouldn't let himself be dragged out to the woods just to watch birds, wouldn't laugh about how his claims of telling his pet rats apart were faulty. The only reasons he went into the woods now was to try and follow leads "Helper" gave him, and the only laughs lately were bitter and without humor.

The anger towards whatever had taken over his friend grew more and more with each lead he sent them on, with each moment he spent investigating the Showtime Killer and their connection to that thing. When he'd kidnapped "Caught", "Helper" hadn't smiled in months. He wanted his friend back and alive. Any funny jokes or humorous comments Caught made during the time he was being dragged along didn't bring so much as a smirk to Helper's face.

This wasn't his friend, how DARE this person laugh and smile like him?! How dare they look like the grinning, ridiculous, contagiously fun-loving person? It simply wasn't fair!

He'd controlled himself though. He didn't yell or hit Caught, except when absolutely necessary to keep him from panicking when he'd almost been hanged. He hadn't even spoken.

On occasion Caught would try to escape, but Helper refused to let him go. He wouldn't stop until his friend was back, until they could laugh and joke and do stupid things for each other's entertainment again.

Even on the one occasion where Caught had managed to stab him with his own tranquilizer and escape with the help of the girl –Natalie, he'd heard her called in the videos-, he had tried to drag his weighted down body after them. The defiance had only lasted for a few seconds before he couldn't move anymore.

As he watched from beneath the hood he wore, the thought still raged angrily in his mind. This isn't him, he'd mentally hissed through the growing cloud in his mind, and I won't stop until he's back. Rule #36… I'm here to help you, buddy, just hang on in there…