Chapter Text
A dim light dances across his eyelids. A delicate, weightless movement. Thick lashes flutter open to a cracked pair of curtains patterned with black bears and pine trees. The smell of fresh sheets, breakfast, and antiseptic greeted him. It was nice. The pillow beneath him didn't smell mildewed, the bed delightfully plush, and the blanket warm over his bare chest.
God, his eyelids were heavy.
He didn't fight the weight. The sunlight strobes behind his eyelids into the harsh red and blue of police lights.
~~~~~~~~
He ran faster than he could take proper breaths.
It was sloppy: himself, the mission, and especially that stupid, limp-dick, brother stalking, toe fungus rocking, protein fart smelling, father fucker, Jeff. The mission had gone horribly wrong. It was supposed to be simple: clean up Jeff's mess, dispose of the survivor, go home.
The feds were competent this time. Of course, they had to do their job right at the wrong fucking time. A detective was hiding in the survivor's hospital room. Said detective wasn't supposed to be there, nor was she supposed to be good at fighting off three preternaturally strong men. It was supposed to be a hospital security guard notorious for sleeping on the job.
She pistol-whipped Tim, crumpled his ass immediately; he wasn’t going to be functional for at least a day. Then, Brian’s kneecap got blasted into bone shards and flesh jelly. Toby? He was shot twice in the chest, once in the gut, and was lucky enough to miss her last two shots. In the seconds it took her to change out magazines, Toby shouldered Brian and ran. They had already fucked up the job; having all three of them caught would have only caused hell for them.
It was a pain in the ass to crash through and out of the hospital, dump Brian in a dumpster, and run from cops. Those fucking pigs were on his heels too. It seems that every corner he zipped past, every dark alley wasn't enough to lose them.
The worst part about this was the static. Even his own racing heartbeat was barely audible over the scream of it. He couldn't feel the pain, but he could feel the pressure in his head, the blood gushing from his nose. His vision blurring at inopportune times. Slenderman was pissed or very angrily trying to communicate. Either option, Toby didn't care to find out.
His body, losing a significant amount of blood at a concerning rate, couldn't keep up. The labyrinth of alleys seemed to expand and crush upon our bleeding fool, blurring, melding, and disappearing into the growing black spots of his vision. When he finally stopped, it was not due to his body failing, nor the cops, but a humble pile of dirt-crusted slush taking his twunk ass out. He slipped on it at a full stride, slid into a dumpster, and ate shit to put it lightly.
Through the strobe of his vision (and the haze of embarrassment) he could see a small circular design etched into a brick. It was about the diameter of a soup can with odd letters on the outer rim and a smudged image in the center. The etching caught lightly on his shaking fingertips. The world seemed to melt at the touch. The earth went soft, almost liquid beneath his body. And with the thought of “Ew.” He was gone.
He could finally breathe. It stung like a son of a bitch. Rich brown eyes opened and took in the night sky. He could clearly see the Milky Way. The brightly lit stars dimmed only by the clouds of mist leaving his lips. For the first time in a long time, everything was silent. His body felt like his again.
I fucking quit.
He paused. Waiting for a response. Waiting for the old “You know I can't let you go, Tobias.” speech from the rotten fuck who made him a monster in the first place. Yet, there was nothing.
Toby was truly alone. The tears came before he fully processed that truth. They came in waves small, macking, and finally flat. He was free. More than anything, he was exhausted. His body was trying to heal against bullet wounds and was stiff from the cold. Wherever he was, it was well below freezing. He sat up to see he was in a small clearing with snow that went above his knees.
“Shit.” He croaked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun was much brighter through the bear and pine curtains when he woke again. There was an IV stand on his right with a slow drip hooked up to his arm. It looked pretty old compared to what he recently saw at the hospital. He took in the rest of the room on his left; within reaching distance on the bed were his hatchets, and a half bath beyond that. His hatchets were clean, sharpened, and had a lovely sheen on the handles. The handle felt brand new against his palm, the weight of it a comfort. He finally looked at the foot of the bed to see you haunched, gloved, and holding a fresh roll of bandages. You looked like a deer caught in his high beams. You wore a chunky fleece-lined flannel, a faded band tee, and thick fleece pants paired with fuzzy socks. Every part of you screamed “NOT A THREAT”. He dropped the hatchet and your shoulders dropped in tandem.
“How you feeling, hun?” you ask, your voice a balm to his ears as it was the night before.
“Uhh…good.” The words rumble from his larynx and tumble into a coughing fit.
You bring him a cup of water, which he greedily drinks. It takes a long, awkward moment before either of you speak.
“Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Not possible.”
“We made sure of it.”
“No place is safe from what I’m running from,” he scoffs
“It can’t find you here, Toby.” Your tone is absolute.
His eyes narrow, head tilted in a threatening question
“The operator, faceless one, the noise, Slenderman,” you shrug. “Whatever you call it, it can't find you here.”
“Bullshit. How the hell-”
“No more questions before breakfast.”
“I'm not asking to be fucking cute-”
“Breakfast first.” You cut. You remove his IV line with ease and leave the room.
As Toby debated killing you, you popped your head through the door.
“Shower first, actually. You smell like shit.”
He glowered at you
“There's a shower just across the hall with a change of clothes for you.” You go to leave before popping back one final time. “You got any allergies?”
“No.”
“Great! I made sticky buns!” You chirp as you leave his field of view.
Tobi sits in bed, slack-jawed and mind blank. Never in his adult life has someone talked to him the way you did.
“What…the fuck.”